Tales In and Out of Ishval
by Cap'nHoozits
Summary: Next in the Sons of the Desert series. A collection of short stories. Family fluff, slice of life, this and that. Mostly Scar-centric. Lots of canon characters plus my OC's. Rated K to T, depending on language and thematic elements. Next up: a new discovery is made at the Old Ishval dig site, a chapter written and contributed by Teej.
1. Trouble in Paradise I

**As one does, I'm always coming up with little ideas that aren't quite big enough for a full length story. Rather than try to work them in to longer stories, I'm giving them their own home.**

 **In this, I figured that at some point, Winry would get tired of Ed's wanderlust. Maybe I just really enjoy messing with Ed. Mercilessly.**

* * *

 **Trouble In Paradise I**

When Scar came home from his office in the Ishvalan Civic Center, the first thing he noticed was the conspicuous absence of K'shushi, their shepherd mix (shepherd mixed with loyalty, unbounded affection, stupidity, and a lot of saliva). He was usually the first one at the door, bounding with excitement that never seemed to grow stale. The children, as well, were not immediately to be seen, although that was not altogether surprising. They were getting older and they had friends and they had other interests, not to mention homework.

There was also a pile of luggage in the front room. Scar frowned a little. He hadn't been made aware that anyone were coming, let alone coming for an extended stay, if the amount of luggage was any indication.

He did finally hear some barking and young voices coming from outside, somewhere behind the house. He also heard some quiet adult voices coming from the kitchen, so that's where he headed. Looking in through the kitchen door, he found Rada sitting at the big wooden table, trimming some green beans. Across from her sat Winry Elric, holding her youngest child, Geordie, asleep in her arms. The little boy would have just turned one year old. Just the day before, if memory served.

Rada looked up from her task and smiled at him. Rada had many different smiles and Scar was familiar with them all. This one combined _ah, you're home, it's good to see you_ with an underlying warning of _somebody's having a domestic drama_. She knew he didn't care much for those. They didn't have any between each other, thank Ishvala for His mercies. Other people tended to have them in abundance and liked to bring them over to share. Rada was good at listening and soothing and imparting wisdom. Scar tended to want to knock heads together and tell people to grow up.

"We have visitors!" Rada announced brightly.

"So I see." Scar went over to kiss Rada on the cheek and then went to the other side of the table to kiss the top of Winry's head. He held a particular affection for Winry, tied together as they were by a complex and turbulent past.

However, a certain other individual seemed to be missing, and wondering if he was going to regret asking this, Scar asked, "Where is Edward? Is he outside with the children?"

Rada glanced at Winry and then back at her beans. Winry looked up at Scar with a weary, unhappy expression. "He's not here," she said morosely. "He might be somewhere between South City and Resembool, but I can't be a hundred percent sure of that."

"Just tell him what you told me, sweetie," Rada prompted gently.

With an increasingly sinking feeling, Scar looked back and forth from her to Rada. He decided he'd better sit down for this. "What happened?"

Winry rubbed her forehead and breathed out a long sigh. "All right. Here it is. Two weeks ago, Ed left to give a lecture at West City University. He said he'd only be gone a few days. After a few days, he called and said he'd been invited to discuss his book at some alchemical society in Wellesley. Okay, fine. That was another few days. Then his publisher wanted to meet with him about his next book. Then some archeology society wanted him to come and talk about Xerxes. Then it was something else. Then it was something _else_."

Winry reached across the table and took a green bean from Rada's bowl, taking a bite out of it. "He gets so excited about all these things that pop up. He's afraid he'll miss something amazing if he doesn't follow this lead or grab that opportunity. It's like he's chasing something that always seems to be just out of his reach." She gestured in the air with her half-eaten green been. "But when it comes to his family, it's like he's taking us for granted! And since we lost Granny, I'm by myself now!" she added, the loss still fresh and painful.

Scar nodded. Pinako had passed peacefully with all her loved ones around her, which was as ideal a way to go as any. That didn't mean she wasn't missed. It was really no surprise, then, that Winry would feel more isolated and be less tolerant of Edward's absences. In a way, Edward's passion was much like that of Scar's older brother. Mattas had an almost unquenchable thirst for knowledge. If he'd had Edward's resources and freedom of movement, he would have travelled the world and they probably would never have seen him, either.

"He promised he'd be home in time for Geordie's birthday," Winry went on. "He swore up and down that he'd be home in plenty of time. But…" She tossed her head. "Sure enough, the day he was supposed to be home, the phone rings! He was in South City, of all damn places, meeting up with some old fart alchemist who was leaving the country the next day who had some sort of ancient tome that Ed absolutely had to see and this was his only chance, and he'd make it up to us and he'd bring Geordie a really nice present and blah, blah, blah!"

Winry leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't have done this. Maybe I should've waited until he got home and had it out then. But I just got so angry! I didn't even leave a note or tell anyone where we'd be! I just told my neighbor that we'd be gone for a couple of weeks and could they please feed our animals and keep an eye on the house. So when Ed gets home, he's gonna come home to an empty house and he's just gonna have to figure out where we went! So here we are!"

Scar was silent for a few moments. He and Edward got along better than they had in the past, even though that particular bar had started out fairly high. The days when they actively sought each other out with conflict and mayhem in mind were well behind them both. And although Scar felt a tiny grain of smugness that Winry should choose to seek refuge here, this was a kind of trouble that he was not sure he wanted to court.

"Winry—"

She straightened up quickly and held up a peremptory finger. "Please! I don't want to hear a lecture!" She turned to Rada. "Again, I'm _so_ sorry for putting you out, but I really need to do this, and…well…" She looked back at Scar. She didn't have to say it, but her eyes clearly held the message of _you owe me_.

That was not something Scar was even going to attempt to argue with. "I told you the first time you came out here that this was your home if you ever needed it to be."

"Of course it is!" Rada agreed firmly. "You take whatever time you need."

Winry managed a little smile. "Thank you."

"Would you get the old army cots down, Andakar?" Rada asked. "The usual arrangement. More or less," she added.

Scar nodded. Based on the last few times the Elrics had visited, the children would double up with each other so Winry and Edward could have their own room. This time, of course, Winry would have the room to herself. Scar stood up to go upstairs, thinking, not for the first time, that they were finally going to have to get that second bathroom built.

* * *

There was no more discussion of Winry's woes the rest of that evening. Rada made sure of that. She kept the children busy and occupied, assigning little chores to Urey and Nina Elric and praising their industry. They seemed a little bit subdued, being old enough to know that something wasn't quite right but not old enough to really understand all the implications. Rada had taken her older children aside and made them promise not to let any speculation among them and the younger ones get too out of hand. This was an adult matter and the adults would take care of it and it wasn't something they needed to worry about.

Once dinner and the washing up was out of the way, and after everyone had finished taking turns with the single bathroom, the children went to bed. Winry was exhausted from all the upheaval and retired early, leaving Scar and Rada to themselves. They went outside and sat on the back porch.

"This is a disaster in the making and no mistake," Scar growled softly. The night was pleasantly cool and windows were open, so he kept his voice down.

"Oh, now, we don't know that," Rada countered soothingly.

"Oh, yes we do. And I think we can figure on it getting worse before it gets better."

Rada laughed softly. "Well, then, maybe it needs to. Maybe Edward and Winry need to face this because it sounds like they've been ignoring it until now."

Scar let out a quiet groan. "Why do they have to do it here? I don't want to be in the middle of this."

"You won't be in the middle of it unless you put yourself there. Like I said, this is something they need to face, and they need to figure it out on their own or they won't learn anything." Rada patted him on the thigh. "But we should stay close by."

Scar sighed quietly and they sat in silence for a while. With Rada sitting close and her head resting on his shoulder, Scar counted himself undeserving of such good fortune. This was something he would do anything to protect. "I wonder how long it's going to take Edward to figure it out."

Rada shrugged. "Not long, I should think. He's smart. He'll figure it out."

* * *

Ed spent an hour searching his house, their five dogs trotting after him from room to room. Winry was just playing a prank on him, he was sure. Any minute now she and the kids would pop out from a closet or something for a surprise welcome home. Yes, the closets were half empty and several of their suitcases were gone, but that was probably just for effect. After an hour and a half, Ed finally had to admit to himself that there were no more places that they could be hiding.

He finally jogged half a mile down the road to their closest neighbors.

Mrs. Arliss gazed sympathetically at the young man. "I'm sorry, Ed. All Winry said was that they were going to be gone for at least a couple of weeks and would we please feed all your critters." While Ed stood trying to absorb this information, Mrs. Arliss asked, "Do you still need us to feed them?"

"Uh…no…I don't think so. But I'll let you know. Thanks, Mrs. Arliss!"

"Not a problem, dear."

Ed trudged back to his house, becoming more and more mystified and irritated. On top of everything else, he could feel a little kink starting up in his automail leg. Of all times for Winry to hare off somewhere! He rubbed a little knot of pain that was forming in the middle of his forehead and he found himself missing Pinako more than he already had. She would have had all the answers. Better yet, if she was still with them, none of this would have even happened.

When he got home, he went to the old crank telephone on the wall and stared at it for a few minutes. He needed to talk to someone; he just wasn't sure who. As a start, he picked up the receiver and cranked the magneto.

The operator came on. Ed recognized the voice of the lady who worked in the Resembool post office as well as the local telephone switchboard. "Number please?"

"Hi, Muriel. I need a Dublith number. Hammersmith-5602."

"Sure thing, Ed. You okay, dearie?"

Ed frowned. "Yeah. Why?" he asked grumpily in reply.

The voice on the other end cleared its throat. "Just wondering. Just a sec and I'll get you connected."

"Thanks." _Nosy old bat._ It then occurred to him that the nosy old bat, being a nosy old bat, might know something about where Winry had gone off to. Ed cursed under his breath at not having been a little nicer and taken advantage of one of the biggest gossips in town.

After some clicks Ed could hear the ringing of a telephone. It rang about six times before it was picked up. A deep voice answered. "Curtis' Meats. What's your cut?"

Ed had to snicker. "What's your cut?"

Sig chuckled. "Just something I'm tryin' out. Nice to hear from you, Ed."

"Yeah, you too. Uh…this may seem like a strange question, but Winry didn't happen to drop in on you guys for a visit, did she?"

There was a beat of silence, then Sig, sounding a little bewildered, replied, "No, she hasn't. Why?"

Ed already felt stupid about having to ask. He said quickly, "Oh, just wondering. Well, bye, Sig! Say hi to Teacher for me!"

"Sure. Bye, Ed."

Ed hung up the receiver. Then, with a start of surprise at having not thought of it before, he snatched the receiver again and turned the crank.

"Number, please."

"Hi, Muriel! I need another South region number. Clement-8374."

"Just a moment, please." Muriel sounded a little smug for some reason. "I'm connecting you now."

After several rings, a man's voice answered. "Garfiel's!"

"Hey, Gar! It's Ed!"

"Edward!" the automail mechanic cried cheerfully. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise? How are you? How are all your little ones? And above all, how is darling Winry? I miss her so much!"

"Oh…well…" That pretty much shot that down, but Ed pressed on. "Actually, I was kind of wondering if _you_ knew how Winry was, or actually, _where_ she was. I came home from South City today and she and the kids were gone."

"Gone? Like, not out visiting neighbors or in town, shopping, or off on a picnic or something?" Garfiel drew in a gasp. "Did you check the hospital? Did you check the morgue?

Ed rolled his eyes. "I think somebody would've said something by now. This isn't a big town."

There was a pause. Then the voice wasn't so cheerful anymore. "Edward, are there things missing out your closets? Clothes? Suitcases? That sort of thing?"

"Well, yeah, that's why I figured she and the kids went somewhere. I thought they might be visiting somebody. You, for instance."

"As lovely as that would be, no." Garfiel's tone was flat. "And she didn't tell you where she was going."

"Um…no."

There was a long belabored sigh. "You know something, Ed? You're smart as a coat of fresh paint about a lot of things, but about others, you're dimmer than a two-watt lightbulb."

Ed scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Garfield let out a groan. "Do the math!" And he hung up.

"Fine! I will! And I happen to be great at math, just so you know!" Ed shouted at the mute telephone. He stood still for a few moments. Then he decided to make one more call, one that he didn't really want to make, but maybe he'd get lucky. He sighed as he turned the crank again.

"Number, please?"

"Hi, Muriel. Let me have Beachwood-6356."

"Are you planning a party or something, Ed?"

"Beachwood-4578," Ed repeated, his teeth beginning to clench. "Please. Thank you."

"Just a sec."

The phone on the other end rang a few times. "Please, please, please!" Ed whispered to himself.

A masculine voice answered. "Hello?"

Ed mouthed a curse. Well, there was no turning back now. He sure as hell wasn't going to talk to Muriel again today. "Hey, Mustang, you bastard!"

"That's Brigadier General Mustang You Bastard to you, pipsqueak," was the dry reply. "What's up? And why are you calling me at home?"

"Well…" Ed really was hoping Riza would answer the phone. He could talk to her much more easily. "I…uh…kind of have a problem."

"I see. And what is the nature of this problem?"

Mustang was clearly not taking this seriously. "I came home from my trip today and the house was empty. Winry and the kids are gone and so are some suitcases. There's no note anywhere. I didn't get any messages, and nobody knows where she went."

"Are you serious?" There was a hint of a chuckle in Mustang's voice.

"You think I'd bother calling you with a prank like that?" Ed snapped back. "Yes, I'm serious! I'm very serious and I'm confused and now I'm starting to get worried!"

"Okay, okay, cool down, Fullmetal," Mustang replied, his tone now concerned. "Are you sure you just didn't miss a phone call or a message?"

"All I know is that she took the kids somewhere and asked our neighbors to feed the animals—"

"How many have you got now?"

"How many what?"

"Animals."

"Uh, five dogs, three cats, a couple of goldfish, some chickens—that's not the issue here, Mustang! All Mrs. Arliss said was that Winry didn't say where she was going."

"All right, now we're making progress. You know for a fact that Winry and the kids have, in fact, gone somewhere."

"Right."

"You just don't know where."

"Right."

"And where, exactly, were you all this time?"

"I was just on my way back from South City," Ed replied impatiently. "I was at West City University before that, and then the Wellesley Alchemical Society, and—"

"That's okay. Suffice to say, you were on the road again."

"Well, yeah. It's kind of my job these days. I kept Winry informed about where I'd be and when. Notice how _I_ told _her_ where I'd be and when!"

"Uh-huh. Now tell me this. Did you by any chance miss an important occasion at home while you were out gracing the rest of Amestris with your scintillating presence?"

Ed grimaced a little and mumbled. "Kind of."

"What was that?"

"Yes! Okay? Yes!" Ed spoke loudly into the mouth piece. "I didn't get back in time for Geordie's birthday! I only missed it by a day! They could've waited one day! He's one! He's not gonna remember!"

"That's not really the point. A first birthday is a big deal, you know. And just because you've gone through them with your other two kids, that doesn't mean you're off the hook." Mustang gave a little sigh. "Christina's first birthday was a blast. Remember that? Oh!" he added pointedly. "That's right! You weren't there! You were off on one of your trips! See all the great stuff you miss out on?"

Ed rolled his eyes. Christina Mustang's birthday parties were just a little too over the top for his taste anyway. He could do without the clowns and the ponies and the jugglers and the unicorns and whatever the hell else Mustang lavished on his kid.

"Whatever. If Winry was that upset about it, don't you think she'd say something?"

"Hasn't she? I mean, be honest with yourself, Ed. She's never said anything at all?"

"Uh…" _Be honest with yourself_. There was that time, a couple of trips ago. Ed clenched his jaw. _Why couldn't Riza have answered the phone!_ "Maybe."

"So do you really need to have this spelled out to you?"

Ed breathed out a long sigh. "No, I guess not."

"Okay, now that we have that established, you just need to figure out where she went," Mustang went on. "Just for the sake of total disclosure, she's not here."

Ed threw his arms up in the air. "Then where the heck could she be? I've check everywhere!"

Mustang chuckled. "Have you really?"

Ed stared blankly at the phone for a moment. Then he was visited by a cold moment of realization. "Oh. Oh, she wouldn't!"

"Betcha. I'll betcha that 520 cenz you keep borrowing from me."

Ed hung up. It was one thing to have to put up with Mustang's condescending smugness. He was damned if he was going to take it from someone even more insufferably holier-than-thou. And to think Winry was going to make him come crawling across the desert sand! No sirree. If that's the game she wanted to play, he could play it, too. They'd just have to wait and see who blinked first.


	2. Trouble in Paradise II

**I think this is going to be a three-fer.**

* * *

 **Trouble In Paradise II**

"It's Riza Mustang!"

Scar looked up from the papers on his desk. Naisha stood in the doorway of his office, having just announced the incoming call. She was currently filling in as his secretary, since his previous secretary had left to have a baby and was not planning on coming back. Naisha was very efficient, but in her own way.

"You didn't have to get up to tell me, you know," Scar told her. "You could have used the intercom."

Naisha shrugged, uncaring. "I felt like getting up. Do you mind if I run out and get something to eat?"

Scar sighed a little. That would mean if the telephone rang, he would have to answer it himself. He viewed telephones as a necessary evil. In his capacity as the provincial governor of Ishval, he had been compelled to embrace the twentieth century. He didn't feel compelled to do so with a becoming grace.

"Go ahead."

"Thanks! You want anything?" Naisha called over her shoulder, already nearly out the door.

"No, thank you." He picked up the phone. "Good afternoon, Riza."

"So how goes the crisis?"

Scar froze for a moment. Had he missed something? With a sense of alarm, he demanded, "What crisis?"

"The Elric/Rockbell discords. I hope everything turned out all right."

Oh. That. Scar groaned quietly. "Nothing has actually happened yet. Every time the telephone rings at my house, Winry jumps."

"So do you." He could hear the smile in Riza's voice.

"Not the same thing. But Edward hasn't called."

"Are you serious? According to Roy, Ed knows she's there! That was four days ago!" There was concern in Riza's voice now. "I can't believe he didn't rush out on the first train! Has Winry tried to call him?"

"She refuses to," Scar said, a little wearily.

"Seriously? So, are they just playing chicken?"

"Playing what?"

"It's a game where two people drive their cars straight at each other," Riza explained. "Unless they want to get killed, someone has to swerve out of the way. The one who does so first is the chicken."

Scar scowled. "That is incredibly stupid."

"Yes, well, that's my point." Riza let out a huff of exasperation. "Tell you the truth, I'm a little surprised at Winry. I thought she was more sensible than that."

"Even the most sensible have their limits," Scar remarked. The telephone rang out in the front office. He ignored it. "With her grandmother gone, Winry is feeling more alone when Edward leaves."

"Not to mention Alphonse is still in Xing. Although she's not exactly alone. She has three children and a small zoo."

"Which she has to care for by herself."

"No, I understand." Riza was silent for a moment, but Scar was sure she was busy determining a course of action. "You need to call Ed yourself."

"I already offered," Scar said. "Winry won't let me."

"Excuse me?" Riza sounded amused. "A big, scary warrior like you gets bossed around by a little girl?"

Scar cleared his throat quietly. "Little girls do that to me."

Riza laughed. "All right. _I'll_ call him. I'll let you know what happens."

* * *

Ed scowled darkly over the top of his book as the telephone rang. The first day he would snatch it up, only to have it be somebody trying to sell him something or it was somebody else who wanted him to come and give a talk at their book club or organization or college or it was one of his friends asking him what the hell was going on. It was never Winry.

He desperately wanted to hear her voice. But every time he felt himself weakening and wanting to reach for the phone, he stopped. He would remind himself how much he resented the fact that of all the people she could have gone to, she picked Scar. She must have calculated how much it would bother him to go crawling to that particular door step.

Sure, he and Scar were okay, mostly. But there was always a faint, lurking feeling, an antagonism that had never completely gone away. It was barely even noticeable and generally unrecalled, but occasionally it would get prodded—some passing remark, some random, long-forgotten recollection—and old resentments would raise their heads. They'd settle down quickly enough, but they were still there, buried deep below the surface. This time the old resentments got prodded hard and they hadn't settled back down. So as much as he would prefer Winry's company, he mulishly hunkered down and spent some quality time with his ancient grievances.

Yes, maybe it was childish. He had always had a hard time letting go of old grudges. He had never completely forgiven Hohenheim, either. Alphonse never had that problem, and Ed envied him a little for it.

The telephone, which had rung at least a dozen times, fell silent. Relieved, Ed went back to his book. Then the phone started ringing again. At ring number ten Ed finally stood up and stomped over to the wall. He snatched the received of the hook.

" _What_?" he snapped.

"Edward?"

Ed gave a little flinch. The voice on the other end expressed a gentle disapproval. "Oh…hi, Riza," he mumbled.

"Edward, don't you think this has gone on long enough?"

No preamble. That was the Hawkeye style. But as much as he respected her, Ed wasn't going to get talked into anything. "Apparently not," he replied tersely. "If Winry was that upset, she should have said something. So if she wants to say something now, she can call me. Better yet, she could just come home."

"This isn't the sort of game you should be playing," Riza continued sternly. "It isn't good for your marriage and it definitely isn't good for your kids."

"I know that! But I'm not going to budge on this! I've made up my mind!"

"Now you're just being irrational!"

"I am not!" Ed hung up the telephone and glared at it, thinking _I'm being irrational_. He felt like he was sinking in quicksand and the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. At least, that's what he'd heard—he'd never been anywhere near quicksand.

He went back to his book, feeling angrier and more resentful than he had before he got up. And now Riza was probably mad at him. He could feel a fraction of his resolve beginning to weaken. Would it really be that much of a humiliation to make the first move?

He hardened himself. If Winry had gone anywhere else, it would not have mattered nearly as much. He would have gotten on the first train to Rush Valley or East City or Central and taken whatever ribbing or lectures anyone wanted to give him. He would even have braved Izumi's wrath and rushed to Dublith. But he could not bear, would not even consider the idea of giving Scar the satisfaction of _gloating_. The man had absolutely no right! Nope. Wild horses wouldn't drag him to Ishval.

* * *

"Watch this!"

Mattas took a big bite from his watermelon slice and went over to the low wall at the edge of the roof, working the fruit in his mouth to extract the seeds.

"You're gonna get in trouble, Mattas!" his twin sister warned him. To avoid confusion, especially while their Auntie Winry was here, Winry Ruhad was variously called Winnie, Winners, Winka (something Mitya had come up with and which she liked the best), or Winky (which Mattas had come up with and which she didn't care much for).

Since his mouth was full, Mattas didn't reply. He worked the seeds around in his mouth and proceeded to rapid-fire spit them over the wall. Urey Elric nearly choked on his watermelon, laughing.

Winka turned to her older sister. "Danika, make him stop!" she pleaded.

Danika sighed. She and Mitya were the ones in charge, making sure that nobody did anything too silly, like lean too far over the wall or, Ishvala forbid, walk on the edge of it like Mattas had done once or twice. Nobody was supposed to throw, drop, or spit anything off the roof either. She exchanged a weary look with Mitya and started to get up.

Before she got close to Mattas, the boy stepped back, his mouth still full of seeds and look of mild alarm on his face. An angry bellow came from down below.

"You stopped being cute three years ago, you jackal's whelp!"

Danika leaned over the wall and looked down. " _Djaari_ Shua!" she cried with delight.

Shua paused from picking watermelon seeds out of his hair and looked up with a smile. "Hello, _laleh_! Do me a favor and smack your brother upside the head."

"Are you coming up?"

"You'd better believe I am!" Shua sent a warning glare at Mattas, who quickly backed away from the edge.

He spit the rest of the seeds into his hand. "Are you really gonna hit me?" he asked Danika nervously.

Danika shook her head. "Of course not. But I think you're in for much worse," she said, sedately returning to her seat.

* * *

Halfway down the street, Mattas could easily be heard yelling bloody murder. Scar let out something between a low growl and a sigh of resignation. He looked up to see Shua holding the boy over the edge of the roof by his ankles. It was a sight Scar had mixed feelings about. Shua was not above doing outrageous things, but he did not harm children. He probably had a very tight grip on those ankles, and Scar was fairly sure that whatever Mattas had done, it was sufficiently provoking.

Scar reached the front of his house, noticing the watermelon seeds on the ground.

"Papa!" Mattas cried and waved. He actually sounded like he was enjoying himself.

Scar looked up. "I think you can put him back on his feet, Shua."

"You don't want to catch him?" Shua called down.

"Yeah!" Mattas stretched his arms toward his father. "Catch me, Papa!"

"Just put him back on his feet. On the roof."

"Aww…" It was hard to tell which one of them was more disappointed.

Shua pulled up on the boy and they disappeared past the edge of the roof. Scar went inside and headed for the stairs.

"Is that you, Andakar?" Rada called from the kitchen.

Scar detoured to the kitchen door and looked in. "Where's Winry?" he asked in a low voice.

"She went to the marketplace a while ago. She took Geordie with her. Everyone else is upstairs."

"Yes, I noticed," Scar said dryly. "Riza called me earlier. She said she called Edward, but he hung up on her."

Rada straightened up from kneading dough, her eyes wide with surprise. "Are you serious?"

Scar nodded, his expression dark and thoughtful. "Something needs to be done. I'm just not sure what."

Rada nodded in agreement. "Something that won't make matters worse."

The sound of feet came trotting down the stairs. "I'm beginning to think your son's a bigger scapegrace that I ever was," Shua remarked genially, hopping off the bottom step and joining Scar. "You know, if I'd dropped him, his head would've split the earth 'cause I'm fairly convinced he's solid bone from the ears up."

"I'm glad you didn't drop him," Scar replied, "although I'm inclined to agree with you."

"Well, I'm not," Rada declared warmly.

"Oh, now, _laleh_!" Shua gave Rada a kiss on the cheek. "You know I'm not serious! But seriously, someday, somebody's gonna drop that boy on his head."

Rada just rolled her eyes and waved her hand, returning to her kneading. Shua took a couple of almonds from a bowl on the table. He popped them in his mouth and talked around them.

"You have extra kids up there," he remarked, jerking his thumb toward the ceiling.

"Winry Elric is here with her children."

Shua grinned. "Sweet girl! Is she about?"

"She's gone to the marketplace with her littlest," Rada said, mashing her fist into the dough and folding it. After a glance at Scar, she added, "She's run away from home to spite her husband, in case you haven't heard already."

Shua's brows shot up. "You don't tell me! I thought they were as close as two ends of the same thought."

"They are," Rada sighed. "That's what makes this so troublesome. They're both being so stubborn!"

"They're each waiting for the other to make the first apology," Scar growled and shook his head. "It's been four days! Winry knows she can stay here as often and as long as she wants, but…" He lifted his hands helplessly. "They need to stop this!"

"Huh." Shua took another couple of almonds and chewed on them thoughtfully. Then he grinned and let out a low chuckle. "Leave it to me!"

He sauntered out of the kitchen and out through the front door. Rada and Scar looked at each other cautiously.

"Should we be worried?" Rada wondered.

* * *

Ed was jolted from his nap on the couch by a loud banging on the front door and a chorus of frenzied barking. He sat up slowly, the remains of his sandwich sliding off his shirt. Two of the dogs left off barking to scramble over and vacuum the crumbs off the floor.

Ed blinked muzzily, then gave a start at another pounding on the door. He sincerely hoped it wasn't one of Winry's automail customers. That would be a little awkward. He decided to ignore it. He lay back down on the couch.

The door rattled with a jarring rain of blows. "Open the damn door, Fullmetal! It's a national emergency!"

Ed's eyes flew open. That voice was unmistakably not one of Winry's customers. That was the voice of the Northern Wall of Briggs. If she had come all the way down to Resembool to pound on his door, then something had to have hit the fan somewhere.

He scrambled to his feet and hurried to the door, nearly tripping on the schnauzer. Flinging the door open, he was greeted by the point of a saber, a delicate filigree of roses etched on the blade.

"Pack a bag, runt!" General Armstrong snarled. "You're coming with me!"

….


	3. Trouble In Paradise III

**Trouble In Paradise III**

Ed angrily shrugged the general's hand off his shoulder. He felt utterly stupid about having let her drag him here. He resented the fact that she had never quite stopped treating him like a kid, and he resented even more the fact that she made him feel like one. He should have just slammed the door in her face.

But no. She as good as kidnapped him, got him on a train, got him on a bus, got him in one of those rickshaws, and finally hauled him down the street where Scar lived. It was worse than humiliating because he let her do it.

So he was in probably the blackest mood he'd ever been in by the time Olivier had completed her delivery. Scar was sitting by the fountain that stood in the middle of Jasmine Court. The place was well named. The air was tinged with the smell of a mass of the tiny flowers. Ed wasn't in the mood to enjoy the fragrance.

Scar looked up from the book he was reading, merely lifting an eyebrow at the menacing golden-eyed glare that Ed was greeting him with.

"There you go," Olivier announced. "Door-to-door service." She turned away to head toward her stepson Dejan's house, where she and Shua generally stayed when they were here. She waved a hand over her shoulder. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Scar sedately slipped a goat skin bookmark into his book to keep his place and set the book aside. Before he drew breath to say anything, Edward spoke first.

"Think you're real clever, don't you?" he muttered bitterly.

Scar considered the question for a moment. "No, I don't think I'm clever." He nodded his head toward Dejan's house, which Olivier had just entered. "Shua's the clever one. This was his idea, not mine. I'd like to say I've achieved a measure of wisdom, but…" He lifted his shoulders.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap. Where's my family!"

"They've all gone down to the Halik for a picnic," Scar replied, still maddeningly unconcerned with Ed's indignation. "Winry doesn't know you're coming."

Ed threw his hands up. "Great! How long are they going to be?"

Scar reached into a pocket and took out a watch. It was brass with a very subtle designed etched around the lid. Scar popped it open to reveal a time of 12:10. "I expect they'll be eating lunch now, then they'll stay probably an hour or two after that."

Ed sat on the other end of the bench and dropped his head into his hands. "Great. Just great. Great, great, great."

Scar had picked his book up again. "If you're just going to sit and mumble, do it somewhere else. I'm trying to read."

Ed lifted his head up. "So why don't you go inside?" he retorted. "Why are you sitting out in the sun in the middle of August, anyway?"

"I was born here. I like the heat."

Ed gestured across the courtyard at Scar's house. "Well, I don't. Can we go inside?"

"So now you're inviting yourself into my house?"

"So what? Winry did."

Scar sighed a little and closed his book. "You're right."

Ed let out a laugh and lifted his hands toward the sky. "Hey, Ishvala! Did you hear that? A miracle!"

Scar leaned toward him and raised a finger. "Do not blaspheme on my doorstep, unbeliever." He stood up, waving at Ed to stand. "Come on. I have a better idea."

* * *

"This is a tavern," Ed observed as they stopped at The Silver Feather. He'd been here a few times before, but not with present company. "You brought me to a tavern. What's next? Dinner and a show?"

Inside it was dim and cool. Electric fans rotated from the ceiling. Being lunch hour, there were a number of people at the tables, and they all turned and registered some surprise at seeing the _khorovar._ A lot of them sat up a little straighter.

A man with a canvas apron tied underneath a slightly protruding belly stepped up to them. Bartenders looked pretty much the same wherever you went. He held his hand out to Scar. " _Doishteve, Zhaarad!_ Don't see you here often, certainly not at this time of day."

Scar shook his hand and tilted his head toward Ed. "I have a guest," he replied by way of explanation.

"Ah, yes! _Zhaarad_ Edward!" The tavern keeper spread his hands, offering the run of the place. "Please, have a seat! What will you have?"

Scar glanced at Edward, who replied, "Beer, I guess."

"Two," Scar added.

The tavern keeper gave nod. "Coming right up."

Ed followed Scar to a quiet corner table. He smirked as he sat down. "Well, isn't this romantic?"

Scar rubbed his forehead with both hands, Ed's humor finding no purchase. "I thought you would like to talk. Consider this neutral ground."

"Because you're uncomfortable here?" Ed said with a half-grin.

Scar pressed his hands on the table. "Surely enough people have given you advice, Edward Elric. I don't think I can add anything that you haven't already heard, so I won't bother."

"Well that's good." Ed's grin disappeared. "Because I'm not talking to you about Winry and me."

"All right. I was advised not to put myself in the middle, after all."

"Good advice."

The tavern keeper approached and set two pints of beer in front of them. " _Ho'avaat, Zhaaradii_!" he said, using that sort of all-purpose greeting.

" _Ho'avaat_ ," Scar returned, lifting his pint and taking a few swallows.

Ed took a drink. Ishvalans didn't try to make their own beer, so they imported it. Ed happened to know that most of it came from Resembool. What he had in his hand was one of his home town's best brews. He set his glass down.

So…what? You wanna talk about alchemy?"

"Don't you ever get tired of that?" Scar asked. "Isn't that why you're in the situation you're in now?"

Ed scowled. "I'm not going there with you, and no, I don't ever get tired of it." He sat forward, leaning his arms on the table, nailing Scar with a hard stare. "You wanted me to talk? Talk to me about your alchemy."

Irritation displayed itself on Scar's features for a moment, then he grew thoughtful. Finally he said, "I'd give it all up to have my brother back."

Ed kept still, letting the words, spoken quietly with a grief that would never completely go away, resonate in his mind. He let out a slow breath and nodded. "Yeah, I can get behind that," he admitted. Purely out of habit, he began to calculate the process, the transmutation circle appearing automatically in his mind's eye. Considering the nature and power of Scar's alchemy, maybe he wouldn't even have to…

"I can tell what you're thinking, Edward," he heard Scar say. "I won't even consider it."

Ed gave a little flinch. Then he offered a small wry smirk. "What can I say? Professional habit. Theoretically, it would be—"

"It would be an offense to God, theory or no," Scar finished for him. "What goes to God belongs to God."

That came as no surprise, but Ed thought he might poke at this conversation a little harder. "All I can tell you is it worked for me. As a matter of fact, God thought it was pretty clever."

"God?" Scar regarded him with a frown. "You mean that thing that sits beyond the Gate, as you call it?"

Ed nodded. He was beginning to enjoy this. "That's the guy."

"You think that thing was God?"

"That's what it said. I asked it who it was, and it said, _I am God, I am the Universe, I am One, I am All, I am you_."

"And you believed it?"

Ed shrugged. "I still don't know. It was definitely real, that much I can tell you."

"I don't doubt that. It could identify itself however it liked. But what leads me to believe that it could not be God is the fact that God has no need to bargain."

Ed gave a slow nod. He would have expected Scar's head to explode over a topic like this. It was fascinating to see him be so calm. "Yeah?"

"God doesn't need our limbs or our eyes or our bodies. God requires only our devotion and that we reflect that devotion toward each other."

"Hm. And humanity has done a really good job of that," Ed remarked dryly.

Scar lifted his hands in a small gesture of helplessness. "That's our dilemma. We have to overcome the fact that we're broken and imperfect. Our purpose is to try to gain wisdom in spite of that so we can discern what is right and what it wrong."

"My point exactly. We're really bad at that."

"I certainly can't claim to be good at it," Scar admitted. "Fortunately for us, there are many who are. They're doing God's will, even if they're not aware of it."

Winry was the first person that came to Ed's mind. It happened so quickly and so automatically that it startled him. He let out a quiet, weary groan and rested his head on his hands.

"Have I converted you?" Scar asked with a hint of amusement.

"No," Ed muttered. "I mean, I respect what you're saying. It's a hell of a lot better than what those Leto people were spouting. But, no." He glanced up between his hands. "Nice try, though."

Scar just gave a little lift to his shoulders.

"I was just…" Ed contemplated the dark wood of the table and shook his head. Something was telling that he was wrong, but he fought to admit it. "I still…I wish Winry hadn't put me in this position."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about her."

Ed dropped his hands and gave Scar a sour look, getting angry all over again. "If she'd gone anywhere else, to Rush Valley or Dublith or Central or East City, the people she would have gone to would probably have talked her into going back home and not causing all this crap! But she came here because she knew you wouldn't do that!"

Scar spread his hands. "Of course I wouldn't! She knows I couldn't possibly refuse her! But as much as I love her, I want you two to reconcile your differences so you can go home and be a family again!"

"We were never _not_ a family!" Ed shouted.

Their whole exchange about alchemy and God had been conducted in quiet voices and had gone unnoticed. Now the other tavern patrons were watching them cautiously. Ed ducked his head and scratched his hair uncomfortably.

"You seem to see me as some sort of obstacle," Scar continued, his voice lowered. "You seem to think I'm keeping Winry here to spite you. I'm not. You've shared my hospitality enough times to be comfortable asking for my help."

Ed gave a small breath of a chuckle, his flare of anger spent. "I only come here for Rada's candied onions, you know that."

A deep, quiet, easy laugh came from the Ishvalan's chest. "But truly, Edward the love you and Winry have for each other can transcend this." He thought for a moment, then said, "When I was still a novice, my master told me that my head was like a hive of bees."

Ed gave him a quizzical frown. "What?"

"He meant that there were too many thoughts, too many questions, too many doubts in my mind. He told me that my heart is where I would hear Ishvala more clearly." He picked up his pint again. "If you take nothing else from here, Edward, take this. Stop listening to your head."

* * *

Alphonse frowned, a little puzzled. "They're all here?"

Yoru, master of the Ishval train station, nodded. "They didn't come all at once." He chuckled and lifted the green railway uniform cap from his head to run a hand through his hair. "I'm not all sure what's going on. I expect you'll find out."

That didn't make Alphonse feel any better. He had received a telegram from Riza Mustang a little over a day ago, advising him to get back to Resembool because his older brother and sister-in-law were having a little trouble. For Riza to take a hand in something like that meant that the trouble might not be so little.

He wouldn't even have learned of this turn of events if he hadn't decided to get off the train while it took on water at Ishval Station. He figured he'd shoot the breeze with Yoru while he waited. Yoru seemed to think he was intending to head straight into Ishval Proper. Well, he sure was now.

"There's nothing else you can tell me?" Alphonse asked anxiously. He'd rather be a little better prepared.

Yoru shrugged. " _Zhaarana_ Winry came earlier this week with the little ones. Then your brother showed up just this morning in the company of _Zhaarana_ General Armstrong." He offered the general a double honorific out of awe. "He didn't look happy."

That didn't really tell Alphonse anything. The bus that shuttled passengers into Ishval was just getting ready to depart, so he got on it. Not much point continuing on to Resembool now.

* * *

 **Okay. Four.**


	4. Trouble in Paradise IV

**Trouble In Paradise IV**

" _Daddy_!"

Urey and Nina ran into Ed's arms. Winry held back. She wasn't quite sure how to react to this development. She glanced at Scar with a hint of suspicion, to which Scar replied with a look of bland innocence. She didn't believe a word of it.

Geordie began to wriggle and squeal in Winry's arms, so she set him on his feet to toddle uncertainly toward Ed.

"Hey, buddy!" Ed held his arms out, catching the little boy just before he lost his balance and gathering him close. "Oh, I missed you guys!"

"Where you been?" Urey demanded almost angrily.

Winry kept quiet and let Ed have his moment to handle this. She was just as interested in what he had to say. So far, he had avoided looking at her.

"I've been working," Ed explained to his son in an easy tone. "My job takes me all over, you know." He hugged all three of the kids tightly. "But I love coming home, and that's what we're gonna do!"

"But you missed Geordie's birthday!" Urey persisted.

Ed let out a sigh and he ventured a glance at Winry that she found hard to read. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry about that." Winry thought he might be addressing her as well as Urey. "I just couldn't make it in time."

Nina was still gripping her daddy like her life depended on it and wasn't really paying attention to the conversation. Being older, Urey was still having trouble. "But, we really wanted you to be there. Mommy said—"

"Hey, you know what?" Ed interrupted him gently. "We can have another birthday party! Would you like that?"

Urey weighed that idea and gave a cautious nod.

Ed grinned. "Okay, then!" He disengaged himself from his kids' grip and stood up. "Let me talk to your mom about it."

"'kay…"

Winry gave a little start, surprised with how smoothly that had been engineered. Rada expertly swooped in and picked up Geordie. "Come on, then!" she announced brightly. "Let's all get cleaned up!" She carried Geordie down the hall toward the bathroom. "Come on, everybody!" she called over her shoulder, cheerfully but insistently.

Danika and Mitya both went into action and started herding the other kids down the hall. Scar just smiled to himself and headed upstairs without saying a word.

Watching the others disappear, Winry felt abandoned. She thought she had been looking forward to this confrontation. She thought it would be her moment to get everything off her chest, having made her point very clearly. But now that it had come to this, she felt painfully awkward.

She took a breath. So did Ed.

"You know, I—"

"We need—"

They both stopped and tried again.

"I just feel like—"

"I really want to—"

"Get _on_ with it!" Scar's voice growled down from the top of the stairs.

Ed glared toward the ceiling and was about to make a remark back, but Winry put her hand out. "Wait. Stop. Let's flip a coin."

Ed was about to put his hand in his pocket, but then he stopped. "No. You go first."

Winry was taken a little by surprise, having expected to have to fight to be heard. She rubbed her arm, stirring uncomfortably. No, that wasn't quite true. If she was totally honest with herself, she could have made herself heard if she really wanted to.

She took a deep breath and picked out the calmest of the speeches she had rehearsed in her head. "Okay. Plain and simple. I'm sorry I took off without telling you. I know how important your work is to you, and I know it's actually _work_ and not just an obsession that you can't let go of. It didn't used to bother me. I thought I was okay with you going away, but maybe that's because I was just used to missing you. It was just a natural part of my life.

"But I don't want to feel that way anymore. I'm tired of having to share you with the whole rest of the county. I'm tired of not having you _there_ , not just to help but to be _with_ me. But most of all, I'm just tired of missing you!"

She didn't think she could add any more to that without repeating herself. She was, after all an engineer. Work smarter, not harder. She gestured toward Ed. "Your turn."

Ed had listened calmly to her, and he certainly didn't look angry. But Winry could tell even before he began to speak that they were still going to be at an impasse. "I understand all that, Winry," he began. "I understand how you feel, and I'm really sorry. I'm not trying to put my studies and my work and all that above you and the kids. I love you more than anything! But this is really important to me! Not as important as you are, but it's really important! This isn't like when I worked for the military. I have the freedom to do what I want now! I don't have the threat of being forced to be a weapon anymore.

"I wouldn't ask you to give up automail, even if you need to travel to Rush Valley. I wouldn't even force you to give me a hypothetical if-I-asked-you-to-give-it-up-would-you-kind-of-thing." He spread his hands. "If you can think of a way that we can get around all this, some kind of really good compromise, that would be really great."

Several moments of silence ticked by. Ed's words were so reasonable, but so were hers. Winry desperately searched her mind for some sort of remedy. A glance at Ed's face told her that he was probably going through the same struggle. Hadn't they known each other for as long as they could remember? This shouldn't be so hard.

"I…" Ed started to say.

"Yes?" Winry breathed quickly, almost afraid of what she might hear. She didn't want to compromise her own stand on the matter, but she realized that she didn't want Ed to have to do that, either.

"Uh…yeah." Ed closed his eyes and grimaced, as though thinking was an effort.

"Well…" Winry began. "Couldn't you…you know…just travel less often?"

Ed spread his hands. "If somebody needs me, I have to go. I can't just turn them down!"

Winry let out a groan of exasperation. " _I_ need you, Ed! Our kids need you!"

"But this is my job, Winry! You said that yourself!" Ed took another breath, but he paused before anything could come out. They both heard the sound of rapid footfalls on the flagstones outside and they exchanged a puzzled look.

"What—"

The door burst open and Winry let out a squeak and spun around. Standing in the doorway, his hand still gripping the latch, was Alphonse.

"Sorry I didn't knock—oh!" He let go of the door latch and straightened up. "It's just you guys. Well…good. This'll save time."

Ed stared at his brother. "Al, what the hell are you doing here?"

Alphonse grinned. "Isn't it obvious?"

Winry shook her head. "Isn't it just a coincidence?"

"No, I got a telegram—"

"That's just great!" Ed threw his hands up in the air. "You know, I could have totally handled this—"

"If you could, we wouldn't be here," Alphonse said, closing the door. "The problem is you're both too close to the situation to see it clearly. Whereas I…" He pressed his hand to his chest and raised a finger into the air. "I know everything!"

Ed's eyes narrowed. "Really? You got it all from one telegram? Who was it from?" He cast a suspicious glare in the general direction of where Scar was lurking upstairs.

"From Riza Mustang. All she said was you two were having some trouble. So I hopped on the train to Resembool, which of course stops here first. That's when I found out you were all here." Alphonse really seemed to be enjoying this story. "So then I hopped on the bus from the station, then caught a rickshaw. Along the way I pretty much got the whole story." He grinned and shrugged. "'Cause this is Ishval and everybody talks about everybody else's business."

Winry sighed and Ed let out a soft groan.

"Now, first things first." He looked critically back and forth from Ed to Winry. "Okay, before we get any further, have you said how much you love each other?"

Ed and Winry glanced at each other. "Uh…"

"That's the first thing you should have done." Alphonse raised his arms and flapped his hands toward each other. "Go on!"

Ed gave Alphonse a quick glare then turned to Winry. "I love you. And I'm not just saying that because Al told me to."

Winry had to smile. Ed might be irritated, but she couldn't help feeling a sense of relief. This was a step in the right direction, whatever direction that would take them. "I love you, too, Ed. That was never an issue."

Alphonse watched them expectantly. "Well? You can hug and kiss, you know. I won't be embarrassed. I love that stuff!"

As stupid as it was to have to be prompted, Winry made the first move and stepped up to Ed, putting her arms around him and planting a kiss on his lips. "I really do love you, you know."

Ed managed a smile, touching his forehead to hers. "I know. I really do love you, too. Like you said, that was never an issue."

They both turned to look at Alphonse. "Okay, Genius," Ed said. "What's your next brilliant idea?"

"Well, while I was on my way over here getting an earful of gossip from the bus driver and the rickshaw puller, I actually did have a brilliant idea!" Alphonse's big innocent golden eyes nearly danced. "You wanna hear it?"

Ed rolled his eyes and was about to say something probably sarcastic, but Winry spoke first. "Yes, Al, we wanna hear it."

"Okay, so, Ed," Alphonse began. "Here you are, a published author and a noted scholar and speaker on the subject of alchemy, right? At the risk of inflating your ego just a little more, I'd say you're probably the most sought after authority on the subject right now. You've taken alchemy apart and put it back together so it's fresh and you make people think about it differently. That's why everybody wants to hear you talk about it and to ask you questions and get into discussions with you. You don't want to disappoint all these people, so you accept their invitations." He paused. "Would you say that's a pretty good assessment?"

Ed nodded. He didn't think he could put it much better than that. "Yeah, I would. That's exactly it."

"So where's the brilliant part, Al?" Winry asked dryly. "So far, I'm not exactly dazzled."

"I know, I know! I'm not done yet! Here's my idea! Since you're the hottest thing in alchemy right now and you're in such demand, Ed …" Al paused for dramatic effect, spreading his hands. "Why can't these people come to you?"

Winry caught her breath. Why hadn't _she_ thought of that? She could have kicked herself. She was about to tell Alphonse that his idea was pretty brilliant after all, but she was interrupted by a loud, deep laugh from upstairs and the sound of clapping.

Al grinned. "Pretty good, huh?" he called out.

"Well said, Alphonse Elric!" Scar called back down.

Winry turned to look at Ed, who hadn't even reacted to Scar's interruption. He was gazing intently at Al, as though he was already taking the idea and running with it.

"Al…" he began slowly, not from caution, but from a mounting sense of excitement. Winry could see that right away. She'd seen it before. Ed pointed at his brother. "A school! An institute! Something like that!"

Al rolled along with the brainstorm. "We'll need a building!" He snapped his fingers. "Where our old house used to be! It's still our property! Would that be weird?"

Ed shook his head quickly. "No! Not at all! It'd be kind of appropriate!" He laughed and clapped his hands together. Winry flinched intinctively, expecting some sort of alchemical reaction. Nothing happened, of course. "Al, that _is_ brilliant!"

"Uncle Al!" Urey practically screamed, flashing past Ed and Winry to tackle Alphonse. The boy's hair was damp and spiky. He was quickly followed by his sister.

Rada emerged from the hallway, carrying Geordie, who was wrapped up in a towel. "I tried to keep them in the bathtub for as long as I could!" she breathed wearily. "I sent mine outside in the back and told them to stay there."

Winry drew in a gasp. "Oh, they can come inside! It's all right!"

Ed gathered Geordie into his arms. "Thanks for everything, Rada!"

Rada waved away the remark. "Well, you're very dear to us. We were glad to help." She looked carefully from Ed to Winry. "Everyone looks happier. Are they?"

Winry gave a little laugh, moving to Ed's side and putting an arm around his waist. "I think they are."

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you're okay with this?"

That had to be the fifth time he'd asked that. Winry sighed and leaned back against Ed, his arm draped comfortably around her shoulders. They sat on the little bench in front of Scar's house.

"Am I okay with a bunch of strangers showing up at the door every day wanting to see you? Am I okay with you spending hours at your school every day?" She smiled. "Am I okay with you doing something you love, but you're at least within walking distance?" She turned and kissed him on the cheek. "I kind of asked for this, so, yes. I'm okay with it."

"Uh…good…" Ed didn't seem quite convinced.

"Ed, it's all right. Really." Winry gave a little laugh. "This is probably the best compromise possible, so not only am I okay with it, I'm happy with it. I'm happy for you, but I'm happy for me, too."

Ed finally seemed to relax. Inside the house the celebration for Geordie's birthday was still in swing. The party had spilled out into the street around the fountain in the middle of Jasmine Court and had incorporated the whole neighborhood because Ishvalans loved a party almost as much as they loved to gossip. One had to wonder where the hold 'strict' thing came from.

Ed turned and gave Winry a long kiss on the lips. "Thank you!" he said when they came up for air. "Thank you for being you."

Winry gave him a funny look. "Me, huh?"

"Yeah. For being amazing. For turning alchemy on its head."

Winry waved her hand. "I think you and Al did that yourselves. I just gave you a big nudge." The smile she had on her face faded a little. "I'm sorry I had to do it the way I did it."

Ed gave her another kiss. "Don't be sorry. I guess I'm the one who got turned on my head. You made me see things from a different angle."

"Okay, then!" Winry announced decisively. "No more apologies! We've got a new plan going, and it's gonna be great!"

Ed chuckled. "Yeah. Although…" His expression turned thoughtful. "I'm gonna need some extra teachers at some point."

"You've got Al and Mei."

"Yeah, but…" A smile that could possibly be considered wicked grew on Ed's face. Scar was walking nearby and Ed waved him over. The big Ishvalan approached them, a smile playing on his lips at the sight of them.

Winry, however, smelled something devious. "Ed, what are you doing?" she whispered.

Ed didn't answer. He looked up at Scar. "So, Andakar Ruhad."

"So, Edward Elric."

"Would you consider being a guest lecturer at my new institute for alchemy?"

The hint of a smile disappeared. "What?"

"I think you could offer some interesting insights."

Scar still considered him silently, probably wondering if Ed was yanking his chain. Winry couldn't help wondering as well.

As if to answer both their doubts, Ed added, "I'm serious."

Scar had to think for a moment. "I…I'm not sure how appropriate it would be. Aside from the fact that there are some aspects of my alchemy that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, I don't even understand how the array works. Things just happen."

"No, I figured that. I was thinking in terms of the ethics of alchemy." Ed cocked his head a little. "A kind of devil's advocate, you might say."

Scar's eyebrows went up, but he didn't dismiss the notion. "Possibly."

"Well, you know," Ed said with a easy shrug. "I figured since you're a teacher on top of everything else, it'd be a logical step. I'm sure you could put something together."

Winry realized that this wasn't so much an invitation as a challenge. She could tell by the way Scar's eyes narrowed a little that he realized it, too. He gave a nod, challenge accepted. He moved away. "I'll think about it."

"You do that," Ed called after him, then chuckled to himself. "Don't you dare tell me that was mean or anything," he said to Winry. "I'd really like to see what he'd do."

"You may regret it."

Ed shook his head. "I don't think so," he said confidently. "He can turn alchemy on its head, too." He gave Winry a quick look. "Don't tell him I said that."

Winry rolled her eyes. "Yeah, your secret's safe with me."

"Hey, you know, you could do a series on automail!"

Winry gave a little jump. "Really? It doesn't have anything to do with alchemy."

"That doesn't matter. Alchemists tend to think that nothing's better then alchemy." He grinned. "They need to see that there are other types of magic."

"Magic!" Winry scoffed. "It's just engineering and medicine. Plain and simple."

"Nothing about you is either plain or simple." Ed gave her shoulders a squeeze and nuzzled her ear. "Gearhead."

* * *

 **Yes, that's it for this one. Now that I came up with Ed and Al's school, I suppose I should do something with it. It will definitely get referred to, and I may even do something with Scar's "lecture", although that might be tricky.**

 **Next time, something else!**


	5. Like No Business I Know Pt 1

**This is another one of those ideas that I stored away. I'm bringing back some OC's from previous stories in this one. This will be at least a three-parter.**

 **Like No Business I Know Pt 1**

"It will seat 1000," the architect proudly declared. She had recently graduated from East City University, one of a growing number of Ishvalans to do so. Her attractive Ishvalan design was the one that had won the approval of the council of chieftains.

A thousand people. That was twice as many people as could fit into the Great Temple in Gunja, Scar thought, gazing around at the cavernous interior of what would soon be Ishval's first civic center. It stood just outside the projected growth area northwest of where Kanda and Wahir met, easily accessible by bus. More buses had been added to the fleet that shuttled people to the train station and Fort Ishval, as well as the various schools. The rickshaws competed with bicycles in the marketplaces. Even Scar had to admit that you just couldn't walk everywhere anymore.

"And if you look there at the back wall," the architect went on, "you can see where the film projection windows have been set." She was obviously very pleased at this addition. She pointed toward the stage at the front of the hall. "We'll soon be installing a large projection screen that can be raised and lowered as needed."

Stanno and the younger chieftains grinned at each other in anticipation. "Finally, a movie theater!" one of them said.

Scar had so many mixed feelings about this. Ishval had grown so much and they needed a facility like this. Progress was inevitable, and he had wanted Ishval to move in a positive way to catch up with the rest of Amestris. He just wasn't sure how Amestrified Ishval ought to become. Well, as Miles was so fond of reminding him, he would just have to suck it up.

Over the next few days it still irked him. Yes, he had wanted the rest of Amestris to acknowledge Ishval as an equal, not as a backward, overly strict people. Of course, what Amestrians considered strict was based on their more permissive culture, one that tended to be glorified in their moving pictures, which would soon be filling the new civic center, corrupting the youth—

Rada let out a loud sigh. "No, it won't, Andakar! Don't be silly! You've never even seen a movie. Just because something is Amestrian, that doesn't make it wicked."

Scar didn't argue with her. It was simply another one of those things he would have to reconcile himself to.

He managed to relegate it to the back of his mind but it raised its head again with a knock on his front door. Scar was upstairs in his study and could hear Rada telling K'shushi to be quiet and behave himself as she headed to the door.

"Why, hello!" he heard her exclaim. "What a nice surprise! Come in!"

Scar and Rada didn't always agree on what a nice surprise was, so he started downstairs to meet whatever it was head on. The newcomer then spoke, her husky contralto voice immediately recognizable.

"Thank you, darling! You're looking lovely, by the way!" Madame Christmas declared. "I was across the way, visiting Dejan, talking about a new recording contract, but I also had a little something I wanted to run by you and your husband."

"Here he is," Rada said, looking toward the stairs as Scar came down them. She gestured toward the cushioned benches that lined the wall in the front room. "Come and sit. Would you like some tea?"

"Oh, thanks, but no. I was plied with all manner of treats over at Dejan's and I'm stuffed to the gills." Madame Christmas settled herself on one of the seats and regarded them, her red-painted lips curving in a smile. She patted the seat beside her. "Take a load off, dears."

Rada sat beside her and Scar sat across from them. He liked Chris Mustang. Despite her obvious worldliness, he knew she was a good, sensible person. As agent for Dejan's musical troupe, her help in promoting Ishvalan culture was invaluable. He was interested and curious about what she had to say.

"So," she began. "How is that lovely daughter of yours? Your oldest, I mean."

"Danika? She's fine," Rada replied. "She and the other children are out watering the garden."

Madame Christmas sighed wistfully. "I'd love to be able to have a real garden. I have to make do with a couple of window boxes. That's city life for you." She adjusted the strings of pearls at her throat. "Well, let me get down to brass tacks, duckies." She looked from Rada to Scar and back, her gaze switching to shrewd business mode. "I have a proposition for you. That is to say, for Danika, with your approval, of course."

"And what would that be?" Scar asked, immediately wary.

"Do you remember a rather lovely couple that attended Danika's fifteenth birthday gala? It's been nearly a year, I know, but you could hardly forget them. Filletta Wensleydale and Ronald Grainger."

That day had been hectic and filled with people that Scar had never met before. It had also been overshadowed by the first of several small earthquakes. His recollection of it was a little muddy.

"Oh, yes! The movie stars!" Rada exclaimed. "Shua introduced me to them. I didn't really get to talk with them for long, but I thought they were very nice."

"Oh, they're the bee's knees," Chris agreed. "They're starting up a new project, a musical. What with talkies being the vogue these past seven years or so, studios are scrambling to jump on the all-talking, all-singing, all-dancing bandwagon."

Scar had to take her word for that. "What does this have to do with Danika?" Because he couldn't possibly connect her with whatever Madame Christmas was talking about.

"Well…" Chris began somewhat cautiously. "While my friends were here, they were rather taken with your lovely girl, as they certainly ought to have been, I mean, everyone was."

Scar started to open his mouth to repeat his question, and it would have come out with irritable impatience, but Chris hurried on, crispy businesslike. "Anyway, there is a role in this new film that they think Danika would be perfect for. I've heard her sing, and she has such a lovely voice for such a tender age!"

Scar's mouth stayed open but nothing came out. Rada found her voice much quicker despite her surprise. "They want Danika to be in their movie?"

"Oh, very much so," Chris replied. "Now before your head explodes," she said quickly to Scar, "it's a very sweet story, all full of fun and innocence and charm, although there is an evil greedy person who of course gets his comeuppance in the end. He'll be played by Ronnie, who gets cast as villains a lot but is a very darling man."

Scar didn't care how darling any of these people were. "Absolutely not!"

That was what was supposed to come out of his mouth, but it didn't. Rada spoke instead.

"How long will it take?"

"A couple of months, at least. The musical numbers have to be recorded first, for all kinds of reasons. Then there's the actual filming. There will be a number of other children in it as well since it's about an orphanage," she added.

"I forbid it!" That didn't manage to come out either.

"A musical about an orphanage?" Rada asked curiously.

"It's a very cheerful orphanage, apparently," Chris explained. "Hence all the singing and dancing." She waved a hand. "Maybe not entirely realistic, but that's the movies for you."

"My daughter is not an orphan!"

"Andakar." Rada turned to him, giving his open, silent mouth only a briefly odd look. "Would you go call Danika in here?"

Scar found himself getting up and heading toward the back of the house and into the yard. The children were all busy in the large kitchen garden, watering, weeding, and harvesting. He had to clear his throat, wondering why his voice had entirely failed him inside. "Danika," he called.

The girl straightened up and looked toward him. He felt a strange, sinking feeling. She was so beautiful and such a good girl. He had devoted himself to giving her and her mother the best life he could after all the hardships they'd endured during the Exile. He was so proud of her. He didn't want her to be on display to be gawked at by the rest of Amestris—by the world! The thought chilled him to the bone, despite the warm desert sun. But he had already failed to speak up about it, and he could tell that Rada was already intrigued by the idea. Perhaps Danika would say no. He could only hope.

Danika placed a handful of tomatoes in the basket Dmitri was holding and walked through the row of plants toward her father, dusting off her hands.

"What is it, Papa?"

"You have a visitor."

There was a hint of heaviness in Scar's voice that Danika caught and her brows furrowed. She didn't move toward the house. "Who is it?" she asked a little cautiously.

"Madame Christmas."

Danika immediately brightened. "Oh! Really?" She scurried past him and in through the back door. Scar hurried after her, not wanting to miss anything.

In the living room, Chris held out her hand. "There she is! Golly, aren't you a sweetheart!"

"Hello, _Zhaarana_!" Danika bent down to kiss her on the cheek. "Papa said you wanted to see me?"

"Oh yes, indeed I do!" Chris said warmly. "I wanted to toss an idea at you and see if you feel like catching it."

Danika let out a little giggle. "What's that?"

"Would you like to be in a movie?" Chris asked, imbuing the short statement with as much excitement as it could hold.

Danika stared at her, momentarily speechless.

 _Tell her no, little blackbird!_ Scar thought desperately.

Danika drew in a breath. "A movie? Me?"

"Yes, ducky, you!" Chris said with a chuckle. "You were asked for particularly."

Danika started to get flustered. "Well…what…what kind of movie? What's it about?"

Chris seemed to approve of her questions. "It's about an orphanage that's being threatened to close and all the poor children will have no place to live unless the sweet lady who runs it marries the bad nasty villain. She won't, of course, and the orphanage will be saved, but how that happens is what the show is about." Chris took a breath. "You'll be playing one of the orphans, by the way."

Danika looked a little overwhelmed, and Scar was beginning to hope that she would turn the offer down. But then she asked. "Would I be playing an Ishvalan?"

Scar swelled with pride. Surprisingly, that hadn't occurred to him.

Chris regarded her thoughtfully, pressing a lacquered fingertip to her lips. "That's a very good point. Would you prefer that? I'd be acting as your agent, of course, and I could make that a stipulation." She shrugged. "Unless you don't want to. You could certainly pass."

Danika shook her head. "No, I don't want to do that. If I can't be Ishvalan, I don't want to do it."

Scar nearly wept with relief.

Chris slapped her knee. "Well, then, by golly, I'll tell them that! If they want you that badly, they'll have to dance to your tune."

* * *

"Filletta, darling! How's tricks?"

"Oh, well, you know. Keeping the wolf from the door."

Chris chuckled. That was something Filletta Wensleydale hardly had to worry about anymore. "Listen, ducky, I just got back from Ishval and Danika Ruhad—"

"Oh! Did you? What—"

"Let me finish, sweetie," Chris said, gently stern. "She brought up a very valid point, and I wanted to talk to you and Ronnie before I pursued it any further. I want you two squarely behind me on this."

Filletta leaned away from the telephone table. "Ronnie! Pick up the other line, darling!" she called out. "It's Chris!"

There was some rattling on the line, then Ronald Grainger's mellifluous baritone could be heard. "Chris, my angel! We shouldn't be talking like this! Filletta will get suspicious!"

Chris and Filletta both laughed. "Ronnie, you're such an idiot. Listen, it's about Danika!"

Ronnie got serious. "What's up?"

"I think I've talked her into it—"

"Oh, that's lovely!" Filletta breathed. "I have such a feeling about her—"

"Filly, let her finish! Go on, Chris."

"I was about to throw in the 'but', duckies," Chris continued. "She'll only do it if she can play an Ishvalan."

There was a moment of silence, then Ronnie said firmly, "Well, of course she should."

"Yes, but we haven't actually told Kevin or even Bill that she's Ishvalan," Filletta said. Chris could imagine her gnawing on her lower lip. "I mean, Kevin has to approve the casting, and that girl-what was her name? Rhonda? Rosemary? Something with an R, I can't remember."

"Rowena," Ronnie said.

"Goodness. Really? Well, anyway, she was Kevin's pet or something and when she ran off it really put his nose out of joint."

"Yes, so I heard," Chris said. "Didn't you say he wanted to have the character written out?"

"Yes, but the character's fairly important." Filletta was silent for a moment. "Making the character Ishvalan would bring a whole new dimension to the story." She let out a frustrated sigh. "But it's Bill's screenplay. And not to mention Zeb!"

"Don't worry about Zeb," Ronnie said, a smile in his voice. "I think he'll be fine with it."

Chris smiled, too. "Zeb will be fine with it. I'm not worried about him. I'm not worried about Bill, either. He's a dear and so eager to please. He'll take it as a creative challenge. But Kevin can be a skunk sometimes. He's very controlling and _such_ a snob!"

"Look," Ronnie put in. "I'll see about persuading Kevin. If Danika wants to be Ishvalan, she'll be Ishvalan, bless her heart!"

Filletta giggled. "Ronnie, you're such a knight in shining armor. Why do you get cast as villains all the time?"

"Because, darling, they're more fun."

* * *

Scar wasn't sure how it happened, but somewhere along the way, he gave his consent. He even signed some sort of contract that he felt he should have read over more carefully. Any document that came across his desk received painstaking scrutiny, but if he tried to remember what this contract said, he couldn't remember much. Or maybe he just didn't want to. It all seemed to be completely out of his control.

There was one thing he could do, though.

"You _yaakhtai_! Why didn't you warn me?"

" _Hai_ , hold on there, _laahat_!" Shua snapped back. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Danika! You knew about this movie business!"

Shua sat back in the chair in his office across from the Amestrian Parliament building. He chuckled. "Ah, I see!"

"This isn't funny, Shua!"

"Like hell, it isn't." He laughed again. "Chris was afraid she'd have to arm wrestle you, but you just sat there like a landed trout."

"This is how you betray my trust?"

Shua rolled his eyes. "Take your kettle off the fire, boy! This is something Danika wants to do, isn't it?"

Scar just growled.

"And she isn't doing anything _wrong._ " Shua went on calmly. "I've been in show business nearly my whole life, one way or another, including on the floor of that shack across the street. Politicians aside, show people are just like everybody else; there's some not so good, but mostly good. Chris Mustang is one of the best. She'd never make anybody do anything to compromise their integrity." He grinned. "There's some fancy talk for you."

Shua heard a deep, resigned sigh. "I still don't like it."

"You didn't have a problem with Danika touring with Dejan's group next year. And high time, too. She sings like a bird."

"That's different! That's promoting Ishvalan culture! She'd be with Dejan and Naisha and the others—"

"And I'm not good enough?" Shua retorted indignantly.

"I didn't say—"

"Not only will she be staying with me, Gracia is right across the way!"

"I know—"

"After all we've been through! I'm hurt!"

"Shua, that's not what I meant!"

Shua finally laughed. "I'm yanking your chain, _laahat_. Look, you've got nothing to worry about. I won't let anybody mess with your little girl while she's in the big, bad city, and neither will Chris." He added, more kindly, "Sometimes you need to just let that iron grip of yours loosen a little."

Scar let out what sounded like a moan. "But these movie people!"

He didn't have to elaborate for Shua to understand. "I know. They're a mixed bunch, but like I said, Danika will be fine. She's had her fifteenth birthday a while ago now. She's a grown up girl and she's sharp as a cactus spine." He grinned. "She'll be fine."

* * *

Danika spent every spare moment of her free time memorizing her part and the songs she would be singing. Scar could hear her warbling away while doing her chores. He even caught himself humming one of the tunes before he shook his head and stopped himself. He should have been happy for her, but all he could think of was his little girl being gone for two months.

His heart cracked a little when Danika finally boarded the train for Central City. There was quite a crowd gathered to see her off and wish her well. Scar wondered if he was the only person there who was imagining all kinds of terrible things happening; a train wreck, a car accident, ruffians. Or perhaps she would come back changed somehow. That more nebulous fear gnawed at him the most. He knew it was ridiculous to consider these things, but he still couldn't help it. The only other person who wasn't thrilled was Dmitri, who stood by with a wistful sadness. Danika gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and told him she'd be back before he knew it. He managed a brave smile.

Before Danika stepped off the platform and into the train car, she turned to her father and gave him a tight embrace.

"Don't worry about me, Papa," she told him. He hadn't voiced his concerns to her, not wanting to dampen her excitement, but she knew him too well. "I'll be all right." She leaned back a little to look up into his face. "If I didn't think that I could make you proud of me, I wouldn't do this."

Those words tugged so hard on his heart that tears nearly sprang to his eyes. "I'm already proud of you, little blackbird."


	6. Like No Business I Know Pt 2

**Like No Business I Know Pt. 2**

Until now, Danika liked everybody she'd met in Central City. Of course there were _Djaari_ Shua and Madame Christmas, who met her at the station. _Zhaarana_ Hughes, who lived across the hall from Shua, was so nice. Her daughter Elycia was just about her age and Danika took to her immediately.

The people on the studio lot seemed nice, although they all seemed very busy. A few of them shouted out greetings to Madame Christmas, who had accompanied Danika, and they gave Danika curious, appraising looks. Most of them took the time to offer a little smile, so they must have approved of what they saw. It made Danika feel just a little bit less nervous.

But as soon as she was introduced to Mr. Kevin Blake, she took a dislike to him immediately. Before they got there, Madame Christmas remarked that _Ronnie did his best, bless his heart_ , but she did have to go through an audition process. Madame Christmas seemed annoyed about it, but Danika thought that was fair. She ought to earn her place properly.

But there was something about Kevin Blake that stirred something in her mind and it took her a moment to realize what it was. The likeness wasn't exact, but he reminded her of Solf Kimblee. She had only seen her biological father's picture once, but it was seared into her memory. Mr. Blake had slicked back black hair and pale blue eyes and a long nose along which he was currently looking down at her.

It made her blood boil in a way that she hadn't felt in years. She had been raised to respect people until they gave her a reason not to, and she managed not to let her mutual disdain for this man show in her expression.

The room they were in was a bit like a big school room. There were a number of chairs and music stands, and in the corner was a big black piano and a couple of big copper drums. Aside from Mr. Blake and Madame Christmas, there were a few other people in the room. There was a lady sitting at the piano. Standing near Mr. Blake was another lady who carrying a clipboard and a thick paperbound book. Sitting in one of the chairs was a man wearing a hat, which Danika thought was a little strange since they were indoors. Next to him was a younger man, his hands nervously clasped between his knees.

Mr. Blake stopped looking down his nose to look over at Madame Christmas, gesturing irritably at Danika. "So what is this? I was led to believe that this kid was Ishvalan."

"She's half Ishvalan," Madame Christmas told him.

Mr. Blake looked back at Danika. "You don't look Ishvalan. What's the big deal making the character Ishvalan? You could play the character as Amestrian. What's the big deal?"

Danika had to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment. There were so many things she wanted to say, but they would probably result in her heading back to Ishval on the next train.

"It's a matter of principle," Madame Christmas replied for her, thankfully. "It's important to Danika to maintain her Ishvalan heritage, rather than hide it. Ronnie and Filly scouted her while they were visiting Ishval and they particularly wanted her for this part, and they were in total agreement with her."

"Well, good for them!" Mr. Blake sneered back. "I still don't know what made them think it was their decision."

Madame Christmas shrugged. "You have to admit, they have an eye for talent."

"I don't have to admit anything." Mr. Blake rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as though something up there sympathized with him. "But we are on a schedule." He turned a cold gaze to Danika. "I certainly hope you're prepared, young lady, and that you didn't actually expect to have this part handed to you on a silver platter."

Danika schooled her features. "No, of course not."

The man with the hat gave a quiet chuckle and spoke up. "You know, Kev, this young lady's daddy could snap your neck like a twig. I know, 'cause he nearly did it to me." He grinned at Danika's shocked expression. "No worries, miss. Just a little misunderstanding."

Mr. Blake heaved an exasperated sigh. "I don't care who her father is! I will not have actors and unqualified people with entitlement issues pulling the professional rug out from under me! _I_ am the Casting Director, Zeb." He emphasized his words with terse precision. "Nobody gets cast unless _I_ cast them!"

Madame Christmas kept her lips in a tight, thin line, maybe afraid she might say something she'd regret. The other man, Zeb, just smirked a little. He rose from his chair and stepped up to Danika, his smile growing. He pushed his hat up from his forehead.

"I guess you don't remember me, do you?"

Danika drew a blank, trying to place him. "I…I'm not sure."

"I'm talking nearly ten years ago, before your folks even got married."

Danika frowned thoughtfully for several moments, considering the man's face. Her eyes travelled to the hat on his head and she drew in a quick breath. "Oh! Yes! I remember! You came to Ishval with somebody else and you were taking pictures. No, I mean you were filming!" She let out a little giggle. "I remember you let me look through a little tube you had with you."

The man nodded. "My handy dandy light meter." He gripped his hat by its crown and lifted it slightly. "Zebulon Oderkirk, at your service. That newsreel got me a lot of recognition, but I don't do them anymore. A little too hazardous to life and limb. Not if you want to do 'em right." He grinned and held his hand out about three feet off the floor. "Last time I saw you, you were about this high. How are your folks?"

"They're fine. We have a big family now!"

"Aw, that's swell!"

"Can we get to work, please!" Mr. Blake snapped testily, turning away and pointed toward the lady sitting at the piano. "Give Madge whatever sheet music you brought. We'll hear you sing first."

Danika felt completely lost. "I…uh…" She looked helplessly at Madame Christmas, who was scowling. "I didn't…"

Mr. Blake turned back and lifted an eyebrow. "You didn't bring anything? Why am I not surprised?"

"She was going to sing unaccompanied," Madame Christmas said quickly. She turned to Danika with a smile. "Isn't that right?"

Danika stood frozen for a moment, trying desperately to comprehend what was being expected of her. Part of her wanted to sit down and cry. But that would hardly make her father proud. She lifted her chin. "That's right. I…I don't need a…an accomp…a piano," she stammered, feeling her face flush.

The lady at the piano just shrugged, unconcerned. "No skin off my nose."

Mr. Blake dropped into a chair. "Fine." He glared frostily at Danika. "Impress me."

Mr. Oderkirk took another chair, giving Danika hint of a wink. Madame Christmas sat next to him.

Danika thought quickly, at first unable to think of anything to offer. Then she simply drew in a breath and started singing the first song that she ever remembered hearing. It was during the Exile. Her mother would sing it softly, just for the two of them, full of longing. Danika let it soar.

 _A young maiden prays to God:  
_ _Grant me, O God, eyes of the dove,  
_ _Grant me, O God, eyes of the dove;  
_ _Grant me, O God, wings of the falcon,_

 _Grant me, O God, wings of the falcon.  
_ _So I may fly beyond the white sands,  
_ _So I may fly beyond the white sands,  
_ _And find a boy for myself._

 _The Lord heard her.  
_ _Granted eyes of the dove,  
_ _And wings of the falcon,  
_ _And she found a boy for herself._

The last note faded away, and Danika realized that she had closed her eyes while singing. She opened them to find everyone staring at her. Madame Christmas had her hands clasped in front of her with a look of delight. The lady at the piano had her mouth open a little. Mr. Oderkirk had a pleased grin on his face. The nervous young man just stared at her with big brown eyes.

Mr. Blake wasn't showing how he felt. He sniffed. "Fine. So you can sing. So can a lot of people." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers at the lady with the clipboard.

The young woman quickly handed Mr. Blake the thick paper-bound book. The Casting Director opened it up and flipped through the pages. "Let's go over this character's first scene. I'll play Gwendolyn." He took a breath and read from the page before him. "Welcome to Corner House. I'm Gwendolyn."

Danika paused only an instant. Mr. Blake read the line in a flat voice, nothing like the bubbly personality that Danika had imagined Gwendolyn's character to have, but it was still her first cue.

"Hello!" she said back with a nervous excitement that wasn't an act at all. "My name's Shevda!"

"What a pretty name," Mr. Blake said, unconvincingly. "Where's it from?"

One of Danika's earliest recollections was how her mother would go from place to place trying to find work during the Exile. Even though she was very little, Danika remembered her mother's anxiousness and desperation to be accepted, either for a job or someplace to live. She had called this to mind when she first started learning the part.

She ducked her head a little. "It's Ishvalan," she said timidly.

Mr. Blake paused for an instant, then read on. "Well, imagine that. And you have no family?"

Danika shook her head and spoke with forlorn weariness, as though she'd been rejected before. "Nobody that wants me. My mother's people don't want me because I'm half Amestrian. My father's people don't want me because I'm half Ishvalan." Even though she didn't like him, she gazed back at Mr. Blake, desperately wanting to be wanted.

"You poor thing! Well, here at Corner House, you have a home! _And_ cue song." Mr. Blake flipped through the script and picked out another scene. And then another. And then another. Danika acted out each one, giving it every nuance she thought the character ought to have. She drew on every experience of her life to lend the part realism. Mr. Blake made no comment, going through nearly every scene Danika had.

Finally, he closed the cover on the script and considered Danika with a long, enigmatic look. He seemed displeased and Danika began to fear that she had wasted everybody's time and effort. Then Mr. Blake finally blew out a breath. "Well, fine. I suppose we can forgo a callback audition," he muttered resignedly.

"As you so deftly pointed out, Kev, we are on a schedule," Mr. Oderkirk said. "And the backers are getting antsy,."

"Don't remind me," Mr. Blake muttered back. "I can only imagine what they'll make of this."

Mr. Oderkirk clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Well, I'm pleased!"

Mr. Blake gave him a withering look. "I'm _so_ glad." He stood up and tossed the script back at the lady, who fumbled at it before clutching it to her chest. "I suppose I'd better go make it official so we can green light this thing. Then I'm going to duck while the shit hits the fan." He strode for the exit and left.

Madame Christmas jumped to her feet and enveloped Danika in her arms, something Danika was thankful for because her knees were about to buckle. "You were wonderful! I knew you'd be good, I just didn't realize how good!" She pulled back and took Danika's face between her hands. "Don't you mind what that nasty old Kevin Blake says. He's always like that."

The young man who had been sitting so nervously jumped to his feet. He scurried over to Danika and thrust out his hand. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" he stammered quickly. Danika had no idea who he was, but she let him take her hand. He pumped it up and down. "I'm so, so pleased!"

Mr. Oderkirk clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder, which made him jump. "Miss Ruhad, this is William Williams, or just Bill, as we all call him. He's the screenwriter."

"Yes! Yes, that's me!" the young man agreed. Danika was put in mind of a squirrel. "I rewrote a whole third of the script to develop your character! Old Mr. C and Young Mr. C weren't sure at first but Mr. Grainger talked them into it I was so excited to be able to create an Ishvalan character that wasn't relegated to the background or worse yet played by an Amestrian with make-up and a wig but then Mr. Blake got all sniffy about it but then you came in and were so wonderful and this is going to be such a wonderful film and I can't wait to see the finished product and—"

Danika couldn't help but stare at him. She managed to catch everything he said despite how rapidly his words tumbled out of his mouth. She didn't think it was possible.

Mr. Oderkirk gave Bill a gentle shake, stemming the flow of words. "Take your foot off the pedal, Bill," he said with a chuckle. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

Bill blinked and took a deep breath. He let out a shaky laugh. "Sorry. I got so excited."

"Understandable."

Mr. Oderkirk held his hand. Thinking he just wanted to shake hands, Danika held hers out to him. He took it and planted a kiss on her knuckles, which startled her. "Welcome to _The House on the Corner_ , Miss Ruhad!"

* * *

"…and it's so funny, Papa! Warren Gold is playing Johnny, who's the hero, and when he's in character he's such a good person, but when he's not acting he's not nice at all. He thinks he's better than everyone else. And then there's Ronnie Grainger, who's Fredrick, the villain, and he's really, _really_ wicked when he's acting! But off the set he's so much fun and he's so nice and he encourages everyone. And Filletta is so nice! She's the most like her character. And everyone likes having Zeb as the director. He doesn't yell or get mad at the actors like some other directors do. At least that's what everyone says."

Scar had to smile. He wasn't much interested in these other people; it was good to just hear Danika's voice.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he said, then he added, "I miss you, little blackbird."

Danika's voice softened. "I miss you, too, Papa. I miss Mama, too, so much! Is everyone at home all right? How is Mattas' arm?"

"It's mending." Danika's brother had finally managed to fall out of a tree and fracture his arm. "Everyone else is fine."

"That's good!" He could hear a quick, excited intake of breath. "Oh! And did you hear? Did Dejan tell you? They're adding a song just for me! An Ishvalan song! They hired Stoyan to write it and he and Dejan and Damyan and the others are going to come and be in the movie too! It's just for one little scene, but isn't that amazing!"

Scar nodded, even though Danika couldn't see him. He was grudgingly impressed by this particular turn of events. "Yes, I know. Dejan can barely contain himself."

"It's going to be so much fun having them here!" Danika bubbled. "They asked Shua if he wanted to be in it, too, but he said"—she giggled—"he said it wasn't becoming of a member of Parliament to be seen capering about on a movie screen."

Scar had to smile. Shua was not above capering about anywhere and it didn't seem to have much of an impact on his political career. It probably had to do with not overshadowing Dejan.

"And tomorrow _Zhaarana_ Hughes is going to take Elycia and me downtown. I don't have any filming to do tomorrow so I have the whole day free. We're going to a museum and we're going to have lunch and go shopping! I want to buy you all presents!"

"You don't have to do that, Danika," Scar chided gently. "That money we gave you was for emergencies."

"Oh, I know! But Shua gave me some money! Um…" Danika paused, then went on, a little cautiously. "I told him he didn't have to, but he said he really wanted me to have it. I'm sorry, Papa. Should I not have taken it?"

There was a clattering over the phone and suddenly Shua was speaking. "And why shouldn't she take it? A girl ought to have some fun money when she goes out on the town!"

Scar sighed. "I wasn't going to say there was anything wrong with it. As long as someone responsible is watching over her when she's 'out on the town'. And yes," he added before Shua could retort, "that includes you."

"Well, that's good, since I'm taking your little girl out to dinner tonight. We're meeting up with Ronnie and Filly and Chris at The Rose Garden. Danika was too nervous to tell you that 'cause she wasn't sure you'd approve. So I'm telling you."

Scar didn't really keep up with Shua's social life, but he was aware that his escapades were of some interest to the public. "I just don't want to see Danika's picture in the newspaper."

"If this movie is as good as I'm told it'll be, she'll be in the papers soon enough."

That wasn't a comforting thought. "I don't want to see her picture in the paper in connection with you dancing on tables."

"At The Rose Garden?" Shua scoffed incredulously. "That's way too highbrow a place for that sort of thing. I only dance on the tables at Federico's."

Scar closed his eyes and shook his head. "Fine. Tell Danika that Mitya is waiting to talk to her."

"Ah." Shua chuckled. "Catch me getting in between those two!"

* * *

Ronnie snatched the check out of Shua's fingers. "I'm getting this."

Shua snatched it back. "My auntie's goat, you are."

Danika and Filletta giggled. Filletta giggled a little harder because she'd had a red jackal on top of the two daiquiris she'd already drunk. The red jackal, made with prickly pear juice and _halmi_ , was something Shua had made up and it was starting to get popular in some restaurants in Central.

Danika felt somebody pat her hand. She turned to Madame Christmas, who was sitting on her other side. "Are you going to miss this when you go home, sweetie?"

Danika had to think about that. She had no idea the hours spent filming could be so tiring, but it was a _good_ tired.

"I think I will," she replied. "I miss my home and my family, but…" She could help but grin. "Even with all the work, I never thought this would be so much _fun_!"

Ronnie raised his glass of wine. "Congratulations, Danika! You've caught the bug!"

"Hooray!" Filletta grabbed her glass and lifted it to clink against her husband's. "Here's to the bug!"

Danika looked at them both oddly. "The bug?"

"The acting bug, darling!" Filletta explained. "The only remedy is to do it all over again!" She gave Danika's hand a little squeeze. "If this movie doesn't make you a sensation and land you a big, fat contract, I'll eat a plate of worms."

Danika sat back in her seat, suddenly feeling just a little overwhelmed. She had assumed that playing this one role would be the extent of her theatrical career. She would be going home in a couple of weeks and that would be it. Until this moment, she hadn't considered the idea of even being asked again, let alone wanting to do it again. She was startled to realize that it was something she wanted very much.

"Excuse me, Mr. Grainger! Miss Wensleydale! George Manning from The Central Times! May I take a photograph of your party?"

Ronnie smiled graciously. "Well, since you are from the Times and didn't just pop a flashbulb in our faces, how could we say no?"

Ronnie and Filletta both offered expert but sincere smiles. Shua grave a wry grin and Madame Christmas a dignified curl of her lips. Danika's eyes widened a little in surprise, but seeing a camera lens, she instinctively managed a smile before the flashbulb went off.

Her smile faded just a little. Her picture was going to the in the paper. What would her father think?

* * *

Scar didn't know what to think.

"Oh, don't look so sour, Andakar!" Rada chided him. She gazed at the picture and sighed. "She looks so lovely, doesn't she?"

That much was certainly true. Scar considered the photograph again. The other people in the picture were identified. The rest of the caption read _and who is this stunning mystery girl? Ronald Grainger assures that her name will soon be a household word!_

His name, or at least the name the military police had given him, had been a household word once. He couldn't imagine seeking out that sort of notoriety.

"This is all so…foreign," he murmured in helpless dismay.

"Oh, my dearest!" Rada reached up and pressed her hand against his cheek. "Don't you see? After all Danika went through during the Exile and how unhappy and angry she was, here she is now! She deserves this!"

Scar hadn't considered that, and he realized, a little grudgingly, that Rada had a point.

"Besides," Rada went on gleefully. "Once this movie comes out, her picture is going to be _everywhere_! I can't _wait_ to see it!"

Scar handed the paper back to her, sullenly thinking _I can_.

* * *

 **AN: The song Danika sings is based on a Bulgarian song called _Malka Mome._ Search that on youtube and click on the one sung by Neli Andreeva. Just pretend the background chorus isn't there. I only changed one word, _white sands_ instead of _white Danube._**


	7. Like No Business I Know Pt 3

**Like No Business I Know Pt 3**

"You look like you're ready to crawl out of your own skin."

Scar looked away from the window to the seat across from him, narrowing his eyes a little at Roy's remark.

Here he was, driving through the main streets of Central City in a limousine—a _limousine, shehai li Ishvala!_ He was being taken to the largest movie theater in the city, where there would be hundreds of people crowded along the edges of a narrow red carpet, many of them flashing cameras at him and barking out questions.

But Danika wanted him to be here. This was very important to her. Apart from that, Rada made it very clear to him that his presence was nothing less than compulsory. There was also the fact that this was the first motion picture featuring an Ishvalan character in a significant role. It was a milestone event that he should really be present at. It still made his flesh crawl.

Roy Mustang reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small silver flask. He held it out to Scar. "A little liquid courage?"

Scar frowned at the flask for a moment, then took it. He flipped the little cap and took a swallow, recognizing the smooth, warm bite of Gold Mark Whiskey. He handed it back to Roy.

"Thank you."

"No problem," Roy replied, taking a nip himself and tucking the flask back in his coat.

Sitting between Scar and Rada, Danika drew in a sharp breath and leaned toward the window. "There it is!"

Scar looked down the street to what looked to him like the scene of an accident. There were bright flashing lights, crowds of people, searchlights, and lines of cars. A broad marquee stretching across the face of a large building read:

 **THE HOUSE ON THE CORNER**

 **RONALD GRAINGER FILLETTA WENSLEYDALE WARREN GOLD**

Oriented vertically above the marquee, in brilliant red and gold lightbulbs, was the name **ROYALE**.

"That's the place," Roy announced. He turned to Riza on the seat beside him. "Remember that time we went here while we were stationed in Central?"

Riza smiled coolly. "That wasn't me you were with."

Roy frowned at her for a moment, then grinned a little sheepishly. "Oh, yeah. My mistake. It was Vanessa. She was passing me some intel. The movie was just a cover."

"Uh-huh."

The limousine rolled up to the curb in front of the theater and stopped. There was a wide red carpet stretching from the sidewalk to the doors of the theater.

"Oh, my! Look at those dresses!" Rada breathed, peering out at the women gathered near the theater entrance. They wore long gowns, fur wraps, and lots of jewelry. She made a quick inspection of her own dress, which she had made herself, cleverly merging current Amestrian and Ishvalan designs. At least Scar thought it was clever. Rada was starting to look nervous.

"You look beautiful," Scar told her.

Rada gave a little breathy laugh, her fingers going to her hair, which she had curled and pinned up with combs. "I've never been this dressed up before. Not even for my wedding!"

"You look stunning!" Riza assured her.

Somehow that seemed to put Rada more at ease than Scar's compliment did. If she was wearing a burlap sack he would still think she was beautiful, so perhaps his judgment was too biased.

"We'll go first," Roy said in a quick undertone. He stepped out of the car, turning to offer his had to Riza. There was a volley of flashbulbs and a cacophony of blurted questions, mostly having to do with the election coming the following year. Roy smoothly called out some answers, smiling and posing for the cameras. Riza didn't seem to attract quite as much attention, regarding the crowd with a quiet, watchful grace and letting Roy field all the questions.

Danika nudged Scar's arm. "We should get out now, Papa!"

Roy glanced back at the open door of the limousine and gave a little jerk with his head. Scar braced himself and stepped slowly out onto the sidewalk, rising to his full height. There were a few exclamations, but Scar turned away from them to help his daughter and his wife out of the car, managing to put off facing the crowd for just a few moments longer. Finally, with Rada and Danika walking before him, he drew himself up and started forward. He heard _Scar_ repeated somewhere in the dimness beyond the flashing lights, the sound bouncing through the crowd like a leaf in the wind. He glanced around, noting how the interest had now shifted firmly to him. It was more fascination than fear, but it was still unnerving and a little repulsive.

Then Rada paused and turned to him, giving him a glowing smile and joining him at his side, linking her arm through his. Her gesture somehow managed to put things in perspective, or at least make him no longer feel like an animal on display.

Up ahead, under the awning in front of the theater, the people who had arrived before them were standing near a row of yet more photographers, turning this way and that, smiling and posing. A man and a woman, looking like a well-established couple, were capturing the most interest.

The woman turned her head and saw Danika approaching.

"Danika! Darling!" she called out, waving her hand in the air. She left the man's side and went up to Danika, cameras flashing at her along the way. She grasped Danika's hands and kissed the air next to her cheeks. "Your first premier, you lucky girl! Isn't it exciting? Come and get your picture taken!"

She pulled Danika back to where she had been posing and placed her between herself and her companion. Some of the reporters barked out questions and Danika looked a little stunned at first. Then a smile grew on her face and she answered some of the reporters. Scar couldn't even hear what was being said over the din of voices, but not only did Danika look happy, the man and the woman seemed to be keeping a protective stance on either side of her.

"Governor Ruhad!"

Scar nearly jumped and looked around. A reporter standing by the railing of velvet covered ropes that lined the carpet held up his hand.

"Are you here to show your support for General Mustang in the upcoming election?"

Other reporters standing near him crowded closer, along with curious bystanders. Scar had been determined to not indulge these Amestrians' curiosity. Then he felt Rada subtly but insistently urging him toward the rope railing. More flashbulbs popped and whined and the photographers hastily switched spent bulbs for fresh ones.

Rada gave him a nudge, smiling all the while. Apparently she meant for him to answer the question. It seemed very two-sided to him. Truly, that was not why he was here. But if he said no, it would look bad for Mustang. Sweet Ishvala, he was going to have to act like a politician!

He regarded the reporter who had spoken. "General Mustang has had Ishval's support ever since our reconstruction." His voice came out gruffly, like he wasn't used to talking to people. Or did he always sound like that? He cleared his throat a little. Politics or not, he would speak the truth. "I'm here tonight because my daughter is in this film."

This created a mild sensation. They all started looking around. "Is she here with you?" one of them asked.

"That's her there," Rada answered promptly, pointing to where Danika stood. "That's her with Ronald Grainger and Filletta Wensleydale!" How did she even know who any of these people were? Rada dimpled at the reporters, who seemed torn at who to gawk at. "We're so proud of her!"

"And you are Mrs. Ruhad?" one of them asked.

Rada gave a little laugh and squeezed Scar's arm. "I should hope I was!"

This made the reporters chuckle and made Scar marvel. This was the same woman who had returned to Ishval broken and scared, barely able to look anyone in the eye, and here she was, charming the Amestrian press.

Then Rada pulled gently at his arm. "Come on, Andakar! I don't want to lose Danika in this crowd." She turned her smile back to the reporters. "Thank you, gentlemen!" she said breezily, waving while hauling him away. Scar gave them a curt nod as he let himself get hauled away.

"Thank you, Mrs. Ruhad, Governor Ruhad!" some of them called after them.

A little stunned, Scar leaned down. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Rada craned her neck to search for Danika.

"Back there. The reporters."

"Oh!" Rada waved her hand dismissively. "I listen to the radio."

Scar was unsure how the two were connected, but right now didn't seem the time to discuss it. This was all taking on a disturbing surrealism.

"Mama! Papa!" they heard Danika call. She came up to them with the man and the woman on each arm. "You remember Ronald Grainger and Filletta Wensleydale, don't you? They were at Mika's wedding and my fifteenth!"

"Yes, of course we do!" Rada replied. Scar took her word for it and didn't correct her, but at least now he could put faces to the names.

"So good to see you again!" Ronald said, holding out his hand. "Your daughter's an absolute jewel!"

Well, that was one way to get on his good side. Scar shook the man's hand. "Thank you. We're very proud of her."

"Your gown is lovely!" Filletta exclaimed to Rada. This was coming from a woman wearing a long white dress that sparkled with jewels or something. "It's very original! Who designed it?"

"Why, thank you!" Rada beamed with nervous pleasure. "I made it myself."

"No!" Filletta held Rada's hand to the side so she could examine the dress with more interest. "My dear! I can see this becoming quite the rage!"

"Are you serious?" Rada blurted out in surprise.

Filletta grinned at her, almost mischievously. "You bet I am! Let's talk about it later!"

"Let's wrap this up and get inside," Ronald said. "It's just about show time." He held out his arm to Filletta. "Break a leg, sweetheart!"

She smiled at him affectionately as she took his arm and the two of them headed toward the theater doors.

Scar frowned, puzzled as they followed. "Why would he say that to her?"

"It's a theater expression, Papa," Danika explained. "It's actually for live theater. It's bad luck to say good luck."

Scar nodded. "Tempting fate?"

"Something like that, I suppose."

The theater lobby was almost as garish as the exterior. The floor was completed covered in plush red carpeting. Large posters surrounded by little round lightbulbs lined the walls. People were heading toward several open doors. Scar let himself be pulled along by his wife and daughter, following Ronald and Filletta. As they entered one of the doorways, they came upon a young woman in a sort of uniform with a little round cap on her head. She looked at them expectantly, holding out her hand.

"Tickets, Andakar!" Rada hissed quickly.

Scar froze for a moment, then reached into the inner pocket of his coat, only now remembering that they had been placed in his care. He handed them to the young woman, who thanked him briskly and turned her attention to whoever was behind him. They moved along the aisle, which sloped down toward the front.

Scar took a moment to look around. He had never been inside a building this large. Like the lobby, it was lavishly decorated in reds and gold. The ceiling was amazingly high and decorated with paintings of clouds and chubby naked babies with wings. What a bizarre concept. People actually got up there and painted that? The seats all faced a massive stage, flanked with gold columns and hidden by a red velvet curtain.

"What is the point of all this?" he muttered to himself.

"It's an event," he heard Riza say behind him. "People are attracted to the glamour."

Scar glanced back. "I'm not."

Riza laughed softly. "Well, they weren't thinking of you when they built it."

The interior hummed with human voices, which were hushed compared to the lobby, as though the place was held in a kind of reverence.

About halfway down the aisle, their group entered a row of seats and moved toward the center. Scar sat down in one of the plush seats with a sense of relief and closed his eyes for a moment.

"You handled that well out there, by the way," Roy commented, sitting beside him.

Scar opened his eyes. "You mean I didn't try to kill anyone?"

"Papa!" Danika hissed in a shocked whisper. Scar patted her hand where it sat on the armrest.

Roy chuckled. "If that's your standard for public appearances, then, yes, you did very well."

Scar stirred in his seat. "How long do these things last?"

"Well, there's usually a newsreel, some shorts, a cartoon—"

"A what?"

Roy let out a quiet snort of laughter. "You'll see."

Feeling not much more enlightened, Scar just sat back in his seat and waited. The theater continued to fill up. To his right, he could hear Rada and Filletta chatting quietly. After several more minutes the lights began to darken and the curtain in front of the stage opened, revealing an expanse of white screen. There was a hushed, excited rustling of anticipation as the audience quieted and settled in their seats.

The screen suddenly lit up with moving images, music emanating from the walls. As Roy said, a newsreel came first, giving accounts of current events along with a somewhat overly dramatic commentary. A part of the film featured some footage of Mustang addressing a group of people, gathering support for yet another try at the Fuhrership. Scar heard Mustang give a satisfied snort of laughter. It then switched to Furher Grumman, waving to the camera as he entered Central Headquarters. There were other items: a railway accident near West City, the sheep festival in Resembool, even a short segment on the civic center in Ishval. Scar remembered that happening, although he avoided the people who came out to film it.

Next came a couple of short features. One was about a trip on the railway to Xing. The other was of some people singing and dancing for no accountable reason. Then came something that announced itself as 'Merrie Melodies', accompanied by yet more frenetic music. This film was made of drawings rather than real life and depicted things that would otherwise be physically impossible, mainly animals and inanimate objects singing and wearing clothing. The audience laughed at some of the antics on the screen, but Scar just didn't see the point and he wished it would end.

Finally, the main feature started. With bright, cheerful opening music and after several seconds of informing the audience that this was being presented by The Cruikshank Brothers, the screen was filled with the words _The House On The Corner._ The names of the main actors were displayed next, then a list of the secondary ones. At the bottom of the list were the words … _and introducing Danika Ruhad_. Beside him, Danika gasped with delight and covered her mouth with her hands.

The story involved an orphanage filled with children who, despite being orphans, were perfectly happy. They did household chores, attended classes, and sat down to eat, all the while singing and dancing to music despite the complete absence of musicians. They were led in all these activities by Gwendolyn, played by Filletta. She was not dressed at all glamorously as she was this evening, and she actually sang very nicely. There were a few other teachers and staff, but Gwendolyn was the driving force behind everyone being so content.

There was also a young man named Johnny, a mechanic and handyman, who appeared to be courting Gwendolyn. He would like to ask her to marry him, but he is too poor. Considering Filletta was married to someone else, Scar couldn't quite understand how or why she could make her attraction to this other man so convincing, especially since the man she was actually married to soon showed up as the obvious villain, forcing sinister and unwanted attention on Gwendolyn. Despite how odd it struck him, Scar found himself riveted by the story, so much so that when Danika made her appearance, he was startled.

Then he was utterly amazed. Danika's character, Shevda, a sad and lonely half Ishvalan orphan girl, was cheered up by Gwendolyn's singing about the virtues of Corner House. Shevda then joined in the singing. She and Gwendolyn finished up in a glorious duet.

Scar looked over at his daughter. Suddenly it all made sense. He understood why she had wanted so much to do this. He was still a little mystified by the process, and although he felt that he had somehow been seduced by it, he understood the attraction of the finished product.

The rest of the story involved the threatened closure of Corner House by the villainous Fredrick, who owned the building. He lusted after Gwendolyn and was rebuffed by her. If she didn't marry him, he would throw all her, her staff, and all her orphans out in the street. This dilemma caused the staff and the orphans much distress, which they sang about.

There was an interlude in the film that featured Shevda, Gwendolyn, and Johnny out on a shopping expedition. They were in poor spirits because of Fredrick's threats. Then they came across a group of Ishvalan laborers who managed to produce instruments from seemingly nowhere. These were, of course, Dejan and some of his musicians, and they accompaied Shevda as she sang to cheer Gwendolyn and Johnny. The words were partly in Amestrian but had a refrain in Ishvalan.

Gwendolyn continued to bravely resist Fredrick's advances throughout the film. Then there was a short but dramatic scene when Fredrick arrived at the orphanage, finding Shevda by herself. Fredrick told her to tell Gwendolyn that her time is nearly up, and Shevda, who had been a shy girl to start with, launched into a sharp scolding about his lack of charity and what a good place Corner House is and how terrible it would be were it to close. Angered by this, Fredrick left, declaring his determination to sell the building the very next day.

Shevda was inconsolable, but Gwendolyn didn't blame her, singing a touching song, promising that she will still take care of her and the other orphans somehow. Johnny appeared and vowed to help, although he was only a poor mechanic.

Finally, when all seemed lost and Fredrick declared that he had sold the building to a wealthy man, it turned out that the wealthy man was actually Johnny's father, with whom he had had a falling out. They reconciled and the inhabitants of Corner House were allowed not only to remain, but their quality of life is promised to be improved. The film ended happily with Johnny finally proposing to Gwendolyn and everyone, except Fredrick, reprising the song Gwendolyn and Shevda sang together at the beginning of the film.

As plots went, it was a little thin, but it didn't matter. Scar found himself so invested in the characters that he actually started to worry about them. As the words THE END appeared on the screen, followed by the ending credits, the audience burst into applause.

Even Danika was clapping, laughing and crying at the same time. Scar pulled her into his arms and kissed her on top of her head. "I'm so proud of you!"

He felt Roy give him a sharp nudge. "Remind me to ask for an autograph!"


	8. Like No Business I Know Pt 4

**Like No Business I Know Pt 4**

Scar's eyes travelled around the richly appointed living room. This apartment was larger than his house, which he considered comfortable, sometimes embarrassingly so considering the hardships his people had gone through.

 _The House On The Corner_ was well received by the audience, who had been made up exclusively of industry people, their guests, film critics, and other invited individuals. This after party was even more exclusive, and Scar supposed he should feel flattered to have been included. But he still felt uncomfortably out of place. Rada chatted and moved among the other guests with ease, and Danika bubbled and sparkled after her success. Scar was happy for them, but he wasn't going to emulate them.

"Trying to blend in as a piece of furniture?"

Scar turned from his examination of an ornate chandelier to look down at a shorter man. He frowned slightly for a moment, knowing he had seen this man before.

The man spread his arms. "Aw, don't tell me you don't remember me?" He gestured at the tuxedo he wore. "Is it the monkey suit? It's the monkey suit, right?"

A number of recollections flooded into Scar's mind. "Oderkirk!"

"Got it in one, just about." Oderkirk held out his hand, which Scar took. "I gotta say, your little girl is a natural. And I'm saying that as a professional, not just to butter you up."

"I expected no less of her."

Oderkirk nodded and moved to share Scar's view of the room. "I never thought I'd end up at one of these shindigs," he remarked.

Scar glanced at him. "Neither did I."

Oderkirk gave a small chuckle. "I guess not. I never thought I'd make the switch to musicals either, but here I am." He shrugged. "News got boring. The new establishment just isn't shady enough. So now I film fiction, which may not be as strange as truth, like they say, but lemme tell ya, it's—aw _crap_!"

Oderkirk interrupted himself with a groan as a man, also dressed in a tuxedo, approached them, swaying just a little, a half-filled glass in his hand.

"Zeb!" the man called out, raising the glass and sloshing out some of its contents.

"That didn't take long," Oderkirk muttered to Scar, who had no idea who this person was until Oderkirk greeted him. "Hello, Kevin. You're spilling."

"Oops!" Kevin took an unsteady swallow from his glass then licked the side of it to catch the drips. "Can't let that happen!" He held his hand out to Scar. "Kevin Blake, Casting Director!"

Scar took the man's hand. It was damp. "Andakar Ruhad."

Blake shook his finger at him. "Thought so! You're the father of our little ah . . .agne . . . genu . . ."

"Ingenue?" Oderkirk suggested.

Blake snapped his fingers and pointed at Oderkirk. "That one!" He took a deep breath and drew himself up, addressing himself to Scar. "That was my casting genius at work, I'll have you know! The minute I saw that kid, I thought, this kid's got potential!"

"I was kind of there at the time, Kevin," Oderkirk replied dryly. "I recall you were kind of hostile."

Scar's brows furrowed at the man, but Blake just waved his hand about. "Jus' perfessional cunning, you know. Don't let 'em get too confident, you know," he slurred. He put on a sly expression. "Gets 'em every time!"

Oderkirk shook his head, mystified. "I had no idea. You hit the bottle before the show even started, didn't you, Kev."

Blake let out a loud snort, which came out a little wet. Both Scar and Oderkirk took a step back. "Are you kidding me? I never show up to those things sober!" He wandered away, chuckling to himself.

"He doesn't show up sober to a lot of things," Oderkirk remarked to Scar.

Scar continued to frown after Blake, who had inserted himself into someone else's conversation. His frown disappeared when Danika skipped them and gave her father a hug. She was smiling giddily and let out a giggle.

"You haven't been hitting the sauce, have you?" Oderkirk asked her with a grin.

"No!" Danika replied breathlessly. "I'm just . . . still excited!"

Oderkirk nodded with understanding. "The view from Cloud Nine is pretty great, isn't it?"

Scar wasn't sure what that meant, but Danika giggled again and nodded. "It sure is!"

"Say!" Oderkirk went on, pointing at Scar. "You've got that big civic center going up in Ishval, right? The one in the newsreel?"

Scar nodded. "It's nearly ready to open."

"How great would it be to show _House on the Corner_ at the grand opening?"

Danika drew in a gasp. "That'd be wonderful!"

If Scar had been asked that a month ago, he would have instinctively felt a certain reluctance. Now, however, it was quite a different story. "I think that would be very appropriate."

Oderkirk spread his hands. "I'll even make the trip out there. We'll make it a big party. It'll be great!"

Scar considered that for a moment. He was having trouble picturing the scene outside the theater earlier taking place in Ishval. On the other hand, Ishvalans loved a good festival. This would take a lot of planning.

"That's going to take a lot of planning."

Oderkirk waved his hand. "That what you have people for."

* * *

There were no searchlights or limousines. People arrived by bus or by foot if they were close enough. Some arrived by rickshaw, including Filletta Wensleydale, Ronald Grainger—who said they wouldn't miss this for the world—and Zebulon Oderkirk. There were only a few reporters, and Oderkirk brought along his favorite cameraman, Hannibal Smith, to record the event.

Danika's siblings could barely contain themselves. Scar had his doubts about them being able to sit still for the entire show. Even Dmitri was tense with excitement. Rada had the forethought to make sure everyone used the toilet before settling into their seats.

"What's all this stuff?" Mattas demanded loudly when the newsreel started. "Is this the movie?"

Rada shushed him quickly as others in the audience chuckled. The boy slumped in his seat with his arms folded. Scar could see a smile grow on his face when the musical shorts started, and he laughed out loud at the cartoons. Scar still didn't get it.

Then the feature started. When Danika's name appeared in the credits, the audience erupted with cheers and ululating cries. Each musical number was loudly applauded. As the story unfolded, Scar kept stealing glances at his children, their rapt faces and wide eyes illuminated by the light from the screen. Mattas clutched the armrests on either side of him and Winry's hands were clasped tightly before her lips. Turyan's fingers curled over the edge of the seat in front of him. Dmitri gazed at the screen in wonder. When the big reveal at the end took place, Winry let out an excited shriek then clapped her hands over her mouth. She wasn't entirely alone. Many others in the audience let out a cheer, including Filletta, who was sitting a couple of rows ahead. As THE END emblazoned across the screen, the audience gave it a standing ovation that was still going on after the curtains closed and the lights came on.

Filletta and Ronald turned around and beckoned to Danika, and they made their way into the aisle and onto the stage in front of the curtains. This hadn't been planned, and the audience went wild, clapping and stamping their feet in a thunderous rhythm. Scar marveled at how Danika had grown in so many ways, how she had been so angry and afraid when he first met her and how she now stood beaming with purest delight at all these people.

He also began to wonder if they would ever get out of there.


	9. Wild Wine Pt 1

**I have an announcement! I and another fanfic writer, Teej, have made an arrangement where I have given her permission to write a fic set in my FMA world. Teej has my full support and approval, and I think you're really going to enjoy this story.**

 **It will be posted as "Sons of the Desert: Survivor"**

 **Stay tuned!**

* * *

 **Wild Wine Pt 1**

* * *

" **It is the wine that leads me on,**

 **the wild wine**

 **that sets the wisest man to sing**

 **at the top of his lungs,**

 **laugh like a fool – it drives the**

 **man to dancing... it even**

 **tempts him to blurt out stories**

 **better never told."**

― **Homer, _The Odyssey_**

* * *

"Hey, Papa! Come and see!"

Stanno Dreva, chieftain of Kanda (still) and master carpenter (always), looked up from where he was squatting by an oak seedling. He frowned as he peered toward where his oldest son, Patrick, had wandered off to. He could hear the boy's voice coming from the other side of a small hill topped with a copse of young oaks, but he couldn't see him.

Rose hadn't been thrilled with Stanno taking Patrick, who was only five years old, all the way out to the foothills. She thought he was far too young. What if they got caught in a late-summer thunderstorm? What if something bit him? Stanno scoffed, or rather, gently assured Rose that Patrick would be fine. Rose looked skeptical and warned him that Patrick had better not come home in tears, soaked to the skin, or poisoned, and that Stanno was under no uncertain circumstances to let the little boy out of his sight.

Well, he was at least within earshot. Stanno straightened up quickly and jogged over to the hill and up to the stand of oaks at its crown. In a little valley below was Patrick, still in one piece, standing within a broad thicket of some sort of half green, half withered plants. Beyond this bunch of greenery, throughout this little valley and up the opposite hillsides, were others like it. It seemed a little strange, seemingly isolated as they were. They also looked like the perfect place for a pit or horned viper to call home.

Stanno jogged down the other side of the hill. "Come out of there, son!" he called, trying not to sound panicked. "I told you to stay where I can see you!"

"But I'm right here. You can see me fine."

Stanno let out a huff. Kids were so literal. He came up to the edge of the patch of vegetation, which stood about waist high. Patrick's white hair and tawny forehead were easily visible within it. On closer inspection, hidden by the broad leaves that were still green, there were clusters of green globes tinged with pink.

Patrick held up a bunch of these fruit in one hand, and with his other hand, he popped one of the globes in his mouth. "These grapes are good!"

Stanno's mouth fell open and he stopped just short of swearing a blue streak. "Patrick! Don't just put stuff in your mouth like that! You don't know what those are!"

Patrick gave him a puzzled look. "I just said, Papa. They're grapes. Like Mama buys sometimes." He made a little grimace and pursed his lips, spitting something onto the ground. "They got seeds, though."

"Well, come on out of there," Stanno told him, now inspecting the plants more closely. They were, indeed, grape vines, although they were sprawled across the ground, twisting and mounding over each other.

Patrick rustled his way through the foliage, picking another grape off his bunch and eating it. He certainly didn't look like he was getting ready to keel over dead.

Stanno held out his hand. "Let me have one of those."

Patrick picked off a grape and handed it to his father. Stanno put it in his mouth and chewed. The skin was thick and chewy, but the fruit within was soft and sweet. He worked the seed to the front of his mouth and took it out with his fingers to inspect it.

"Huh," he mused. Looking back at the plants, he wondered that he had never noticed them before. How long had they been here? Who had come along and planted them here in the first place? It was a puzzlement.

He reached out to push aside the tangle of leaves, revealing more bunches of grapes. They were dusty-looking, and there were lacy bits of old spider webs covering some of them. Some of the grapes had shriveled into raisins and some looked like they were ready to disintegrate with age. Others, though, looked fresh and plump.

"These must have been reseeding themselves for years," Stanno said, mostly to himself.

"Can we take some for Mama?"

Stanno considered the clusters of fruit. Maybe they could grow these in their garden. "Sure. Let's take a few bunches. Then we'd better head home."

Patrick happily carried an armload of grapes along with some of the fresher green leaves back to Stanno's truck. They loaded them into the basket that had contained the lunch that Rose packed for them, and they soon made their way onto the road back to Ishval Proper.

It was getting dark by the time they got home. Patrick had fallen asleep for most of the trip back, but he roused himself, full of energy, to barrel through their back gate and through the back door.

"Mama!" he called out. "We're home!"

Rose was in the kitchen, setting a plate of food in front of Patrick's younger brother, Kosha. Their baby girl, Varteni, lay in a cradle suspended securely from one of the thick wooden beams in the kitchen ceiling. Rose came around the table and held out her arms. "There you are! Just in time for supper!" She pulled Patrick into her arms, hugging him tightly. "Did you have a good time with Papa?"

"Uh-huh!" Patrick replied enthusiastically. "We got you a surprise!"

"Really?" Rose straightened up and turned her attention to her husband, who stepped up to kiss her. "Is it a nice surprise? You didn't bring me back a scorpion, did you?" she asked with a smirk.

Stanno chuckled. "Not hardly." Tousling Kosha's hair, he set the basket on the table and opened it up. Reaching in, he selected one of the nicer bunches, complete with little curling vine tendrils and shiny green leaves. Kosha pointed a piece of flatbread at it, which was about all he had to say about it.

Rose tilted her head a little. "Grapes? Did you stop by the marketplace?"

"Nuh-uh!" Patrick answered. "We picked 'em way out there!"

Rose's eyes widened a little. "You mean, they were growing wild? Out in the middle of nowhere?"

"That's right," Stanno replied. "You know, I was thinking on the drive back. Years ago, in the days of Old Ishval, they used to make wine. I can hardly believe that those vines could have survived that long, but maybe they did."

Rose took the bunch of grapes in her hands. "Could they really have been growing out there for a thousand years? Why aren't the mountains covered with them?"

Stanno shrugged. "I don't know. They were in an area I haven't really explored before, at least not that I can recall. My father never mentioned them."

"They're pretty good, Mama!" Patrick said. "Try one!"

Rose lifted an eyebrow. "Did you wash them before you ate them?"

Stanno was ready to lie through his teeth, but Patrick piped up happily, "Nope. I just ate 'em!"

Rose sighed and gave Stanno a weary look. "They've got to be dirty, Stanno!" She took the bunch over to the sink and ran them under the tap.

Stanno gave a little roll of his eyes. "They weren't sitting on the ground or anything," he replied defensively. He gave Patrick a conspiratorial smirk. "But they might have gotten licked by rabbits."

Patrick giggled. "Eww!"

"Ha, ha, very funny." Rose laid the wet grapes in a towel and picked one off the bunch. She chewed on it thoughtfully and nodded. "Yeah, these are definitely not table grapes." She pulled the seed out of her mouth. "They must be wine grapes."

Stanno took the bunch of grapes and held them closer to the lamp that hung over the table. They glistened with moisture and the light from the lamp glowed through them. He considered them for several moments in silence.

"You're getting that look," Rose remarked dryly.

"What look?" Stanno asked, still a little distracted by the grapes in his hand.

Rose folded her arms. "Like you're getting your next big idea to make a fortune."

Stanno shrugged. "Hmm. Not really an idea." He turned his full attention back to Rose with a grin. "Not just yet."


	10. Wild Wine Pt 2

**Having heard about and done some research on Georgian amber wines and winemaking, I was inspired to write this. Ishval needed another industry to help them keep up with the modern world. What better than with a tradition that goes back for thousands of years.**

 **I'm also bringing back one of my other OCs, Dr. Sebastian McNeese.**

* * *

 **Wild Wine Pt 2**

Old resentments lived long, dark, cloistered lives in Stanno's mind, and he released them only under extraordinary circumstances. He didn't make a habit of becoming any friendlier with Amestrians than he had to be. Rose had been a notable exception. With her, he had taken a great leap of faith, following a heart battered by past failures rather than a mercenary head. He had been greatly and, he had to admit, undeservedly rewarded. But he wasn't a gambling man and he seldom viewed interacting with other Amestrians as anything better than a short chance on long odds.

This was one of those rare, pleasant circumstances where the odds were in his favor, that is, an opportunity to get something for nothing. Stanno slid into a seat at his favorite tavern, which, as luck would have it, was also the favorite tavern of Dr. Sebastian McNeese, archeologist and Armstrong family in-law. Seb was sitting with a glass of beer, some shards of pottery, and a couple of open notebooks, one of which he was writing in.

"Just the fellow I want to see!" Stanno declared with his best charming grin, adding, "At least, I think so."

Seb looked up from his notebook with a raised eyebrow. "That sounds like damning with faint praise."

Stanno waved to the tavernkeeper. "My usual!" he called out before turning back to Seb with a slightly apologetic look. "What I meant was that I wasn't sure who to go to first, you or _Saahad_ Bozidar."

Seb gave him a small, wry smile. "Well, if you're looking for spiritual guidance, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong person," he replied.

Stanno chuckled disarmingly, waving his hands. "No, no. My purpose is a little more…ah…academic. The thing is, I've come across something, and I need to do some research, but I'm not sure where to start."

"Ah." Seb set his pencil down and sat back. "Well, you said the magic word with 'research'. What is it you've come across?"

His smile growing with satisfaction at having his efforts justified, Stanno reached into a fold in his _chuva_ and pulled out a small folded piece of cloth. He unwrapped it and set it on the table. Seb leaned forward and adjusted his reading glasses, intently studying what lay on the table before him. "What you have there," he pronounced after a moment, "is a grape." He took off his cheaters. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

The shine came off Stanno's charm and he scowled. Stupid, smug Ammy bastard. "I know it's a grape. I found it and a whole lot more besides out east in the foothills."

Seb perked up attentively. "Really?"

"I was just there were my boy yesterday, checking on my oaks. All this time I didn't even know there were grapes growing out there."

"How extraordinary!"

Stanno nodded in agreement. "I'll say. From what I could tell, they've just been growing wild. I'm not sure how long, though. The vines were all in a tangle." He leaned his forearms on the table. "See, I know that a long time ago, before the Great Earthquake, Ishvalans made wine. I don't know anything about how, just that it was stored in big clay jars."

"Amphorae," Seb corrected him. He picked up one of the pottery shards from his collection and held it up. "Or more specifically, as I've been told, _k'vevri_. As a matter of fact, we've unearthed what I believe is one of the very vessels in question."

It was all Stanno could do to not jump out of his seat. He calmly took a moment to acknowledge the tavern keeper, who had just brought him his order, a bottle of beer with a wedge of lime sticking out of its mouth, along with a _halmi_ chaser. Turning his attention back to Seb, he pointed to the shard and asked, "Is that all that's left of it?"

"No, there were much larger pieces. It was split more or less in half. It had been buried in the cellar of a structure we've been working on in an eastern section of Old Ishval. There could easily be more." Seb turned a few pages of his notebook and turned it around so Stanno could see it.

On the page was a drawing of a sort of egg-shaped jar. Alongside the drawing was a line and the words _1.5 meters_ scribbled next to it. That was a big jar, very wide at the top and narrowing almost to a point at the bottom. Stanno frowned.

"It looks like it could easily tip over," he remarked. He pointed to the jar's massive shoulders. "The center of gravity is all up here."

"Well, they're not tableware. As I said, this pot was stored underground. Aerugan amphorae come to an actual point, the main purpose of which was to be able to have it rest in sand, since they were large and meant for storage." Seb handed over the shard of pottery he's been holding. "Another reason is so that sediments in whatever liquid you're storing would float to the bottom. That makes it very useful for wine making."

Stanno took the piece of pottery and turned it over in his hands. It was typical Ishvalan red clay. He brought it up to his nose briefly. It just smelled earthy. He rubbed the inside curve with his thumb. It felt very slightly slicker than the outer side.

"Beeswax," Seb offered. "Another local product."

Stanno nodded thoughtfully. To be sure, it was interesting to be holding something that was at least a millennium old. His interest, however, lay elsewhere. He examined the drawing again. "Anything else you can tell me?"

Seb smiled a little. "May I infer from your questions that your interest is actually more than just academic?"

Stanno hesitated just a little. He intended to pump as much information out of the good doctor without surrendering much of his own. "Possibly."

Seb chuckled. "Sounds like a very elaborate class project. Do you know anything about making wine?"

Well, the man wasn't stupid, after all. It would be easy enough to guess. "That's where the research comes in." Stanno handed the pottery shard back. "I thought I'd pick your brains before I moved on to _Saahad_ Bozidar. I thought there might have been some sort of written record amongst all those books they found. Unless, of course," he added, "you've found something yourself."

Seb smiled and took a drink from his beer. He took a little too long to answer, as far as Stanno was concerned. The carpenter resisted the urge to drum his fingers impatiently. Seb cleared his throat softly and laced his fingers together. "As a matter of fact," he said finally, "we did come across a thick tome—most fortunately, the ancient monks were quite assiduous in the preservation of their culture—that appears to illustrate the art of winemaking in some detail."

Stanno nodded, sitting back and focusing on his own beer for a moment, carefully squeezing in the juice from the lime wedge before stuffing it into the bottle. Taking a drink from it, he savored the flavor as his mind began to whirl with glee. He set the bottle down. "Is that a fact?"

"That is a fact."

"And where might this ancient tome be now?" Stanno asked.

"In the care of the priests of the Great Temple in Gunja," Seb replied. "They're copying it out in both Old and Modern Ishvalan, the one for posterity and the other for general edification. So it won't be our good Head Cleric you want to talk to, it'll be _Saahad_ Mazur, the librarian." He smiled indulgently. "There's no need to be coy about it, old fellow. If this is something you're honestly planning on doing, I'd be really interested in how it turns out. Not just whether some thousand-year-old instructions stand the test of time, but whether you actually manage to produce something drinkable." His smile grew and he looked off into the distance. "I could publish a paper on it."

Stanno frowned a little. Having anyone—an Amestrian on top of that—poking their nose into his own private idea, or worse, profiting off his labor, was exactly what he wanted to avoid. "Or I could write one."

Seb spread his hands. "Or you could," he conceded easily. "You need to make sure to record the process carefully. No academic journal is going to take you seriously if you're half-assed about your documentation."

"Oh, don't you worry about my documentation," Stanno assured him. He took his beer again and sat back, allowing himself a satisfied grin. So far, so good. Suddenly feeling magnanimous, he called over to the tavern keeper. " _Hai_ , Mehlek! Put the good doctor's drink on my tab!"

Seb raised his bottle. "Thanks!"

"Thank _you_!" Stanno replied.

Seb gave a shrug. "I'm all for the pursuit of knowledge, not to mention a good glass of wine. Let's see if the fruit of your labor can compete with a good Aerugan vintage."

Maybe it was Stanno's naturally suspicious nature, but he thought he detected a hint of skepticism in Dr. McNeese's remark. Stanno took another pull from his beer then knocked back his glass of _halmi_. _Go ahead and doubt,_ he thought. _We'll see how smug you are after I'm finished_.


	11. Wild Wine Pt 3

**I'm bringing in a new OC, or rather, bringing him back. I introduced him way back in Sons of the Desert as a minor character that had a brief appearance, and I had use for him again.**

* * *

 **Wild Wine Pt 3**

The Great Temple of Gunja, the heart of Ishval, had boasted of a quickly growing library for several years now. Like most building projects in Ishval, it has been originally planned with a great deal of faith. For the first few years, the shelves were rather bare. Books that had survived the War of Extermination were tragically few. The older of these had been reprinted by East Amestris University Publishing. Not a lot of copies sold, and it had become difficult to persuade the university to invest more money and resources on these works.

Since the discovery of the ancient temple library in Old Ishval, however, interest had soared, partly because of the sheer academic value and partly because of the formidable influence of Dr. McNeese and, by extension, the Armstrong family (the Central and Eastern branches, at least).

 _Saahad_ Mazur, an expert in ancient Ishvalan prosody and scholarly writings, was the librarian, preservationist, historian, and paleographer. If anybody wanted to know anything that had been written by or about ancient Ishvalans, he would be the one to ask.

Stanno did not know the priest well at all, other than the fact that he was staggeringly well-educated and erudite and therefore of little interest. Until now, of course.

When Stanno stepped into the library, a place he hadn't set a toe into since he'd help build it, the first thing that struck him was the quiet. It wasn't like the interior of the temple itself, which had a comfortable sort of quiet. The quiet here was almost oppressive, giving the feeling that if you disturbed it, there would be consequences.

It smelled like paper, clean but old. Some people probably liked that smell. People who went to libraries, for example. Stanno felt uncomfortably out of his element, not exactly in enemy territory, but at a clear disadvantage. He stood inside the door for several moments to get his bearings. Before him were a double row of tables, flanked on either side by rows of tall shelves. Anything made out of wood was at least familiar to him because he had supervised the building of them.

Sitting at two of the tables were a handful of priests and novices, their heads bent over thick books with yellowed pages and their hands busily scratching away on sheets of paper. The hands that were touching the books with were covered in gloves. Stalking slowly behind these diligent workers was the long, lean form of _Saahad_ Mazur. He did not have the benevolent, grandfatherly demeanor of _Saahad_ Bozidar or the open, wry accessibility of _Saahad_ Imir. Mazur's vocation leaned toward scholasticism rather than preaching the faith. He was deadly serious about it, and he was an exacting teacher. Stanno could see some of the novices give surreptitious, sidelong glances to eye him nervously as he passed.

Stanno stepped closer to the tables and cleared his throat softly. _Saahad_ Mazur looked up, glaring at Stanno as if he'd stepped into the temple and started shouting obscenities. The priest approached him.

"How can I help you, _Zhaarad_ Dreva?" he murmured, his voice soft but holding a warning to not waste his time. "We are very near to closing for the day."

Stanno drew himself up. He topped the priest by a couple of inches and took whatever advantage he could get from it. He thought for a moment. This had to be handled delicately. "I was interested in a certain…uh…work that had been discovered among the…uh…from the temple library out in Old Ishval."

Mazur regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Which work would that be?"

"Ah, well, it had to do with wine making. I was talking with Dr. McNeese earlier, and he was saying that one had been found that had a lot of detailed information in it."

Mazur lifted an eyebrow, considering and calculating Stanno's words. "Wine making?"

"Yes. I was interested in the process." Stanno had to acknowledge that he couldn't be cagey this time, so he pulled out his grape again and showed it to the priest. "I want to try and recreate it."

Mazur frowned, unimpressed. Stanno couldn't quite blame him. The grape was starting to look a little squished by now. "There are grapes and then there are grapes," the priest said. "You can't expect to simply buy any old bunch of grapes from the marketplace and make _R'katsiteli_ out of them."

Stanno blinked. "Rik…what?"

Mazur let out a quiet, long-suffering breath. He turned away and stepped up to one of the priests seated at the first table and exchanged a few whispered words with him. He then returned to Stanno. "Come into my study."

He turned away and strode off past the bookcases to the far end of the room. Stanno followed him, wondering with dismay what he had gotten himself into. It also brought back vague, uncomfortable memories of being sent to the headmaster's office at school. Mazur stopped at a door and opened it, stepping aside to allow Stanno to enter. Mazur went in after him, flipping on a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and closing the door.

There was a desk in the center of the room, surrounded by bookcases crowded with papers, books, and artifacts. Mazur motioned to a chair in front of the desk as he moved to the seat on the other side. The two sat down.

Mazur folded his hands on the desktop before him. He spoke louder than he had in the library, but not by much. " _R'katsiteli_ was an amber wine made by our ancestors by way of a fairly lengthy and unique process. The _r'katstiteli_ grape grew only in the eastern foothills of Ishval. Not Amestris, not Aerugo, or anywhere else. I will not countenance the abuse of our ancient traditions simply because you want to find a new way to get drunk or make money."

Admittedly, Stanno could understand why he would think that. Still, he was making a few false assumptions. His attitude also reminded him entirely too much of Andakar, and he wasn't going to stand for that. Stanno calmly set his grape on the desk in front of Mazur.

"I found this growing wild out in the very foothills you spoke of," he said. "I'm very familiar with that land, since I cultivate the Ishvalan black oaks out there. I had occasion to venture further out into areas I hadn't been in before, and I came across these." He gestured to the grape. "I can only think that these are the very grapes that our ancestors once grew."

Mazur rubbed his chin dubiously. "That was a thousand years ago."

"Yes, and no one's been up there to disturb them since." Stanno sat forward in his chair. "All this time, they've been reseeding themselves, or animals and birds have been eating them and crapping the seeds all over the place." He ignored Mazur's scandalized look. "There've been good and bad rainy seasons ever since, so even without man's help, they've survived. All those years the Ammies had us under their bootheels, unable to venture far without permission, these grapes have been growing and dying and growing and dying." He stabbed his finger at his grape. "So _don't_ tell me I just picked up some Ammy garbage from the marketplace. Those are real _R'katsiteli_ grapes!"

There was always the slightest chance he was wrong, but he sure as hell wasn't going to admit it. The name sure felt good to say, and he gave the "R" a nice little roll. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "So can I see this book or not?"

If Mazur was intimidated or even impressed by Stanno's speech, he wasn't showing it. On the other hand, he didn't look like he was ready to jump out of his chair and order Stanno to never darken his doorway again. He sat for a few moments, considering the bruised and split little grape on the desk in front of him. Finally he said with deliberate care, "If you can assure me that your intention is to foster Ishvalan culture and scholarship and to benefit our people, I will let you see the book. However," he went on, "it is still in the process of being copied."

Stanno's face fell a little. "Can't I just use the original?"

"Certainly not!" Mazur snapped back. "It's nearly twelve hundred years old! It has to be handled with the greatest care! You will have to wait for the copy."

Stanno let out an impatient huff, then moderated his tone. "Yes, of course. Any idea how long that might take?"

Mazur thought for a moment. "Three, perhaps four weeks."

Not too bad, but it could be better. "Is there any chance you could maybe hurry it up a little?" Stanno decided to play a card he didn't normally care to. "Perhaps if I were to contribute to the temple?"

Mazur looked offended. "There is a marked difference between making an offering for the support of Ishvala's temporal work and bribing Ishvala's priests to further your own ends."

Stanno threw his hands in the air. "I thought this was a library! It's where you get books!"

"Yes, of course it's a library!" Mazur shot back testily. "Our purpose is to preserve our history and culture, not to line our pockets!"

"Well, then, there we have an accord!" Stanno retorted, exasperated.

The two glared at each other, each waiting for the other to back down. Stanno was an experienced businessman and could stand his ground with against any _baata_ in the marketplace. Mazur was a scholar down to his bones, so he couldn't help but see the advantage in supporting an endeavor like this. The priest finally breathed out slowly, not quite backing down, but acknowledging Stanno's point.

"I can't let you use the original manuscript," he insisted. "I will, however, give its copying first priority, if—" he held up a warning finger "—if you make a substantial offering to the temple."

Stanno grinned in triumph. "Trust me, _Saahad_. It'll come from the heart!"

* * *

It took a good two weeks, a bit of cash to grease the wheels, and stern warnings not to let any damage come to the copy, but Stanno finally held a thick stack of quarter folio paper in his hands. After they'd gotten the children to bed, he and Rose sat at the kitchen table, their heads together, going through each page. Rose couldn't read the Old Tongue, but she could appreciate the pictures.

"Be careful you don't get them mixed up," Rose cautioned.

"I wasn't going to!" Stanno grumbled. "Ishvala! You sound like Mazur!"

Rose nudged him with her shoulder. "Well, can you blame me? They put a lot of work into this. They didn't just copy the words. Look at those drawings!"

It was, indeed, a work of art. As a craftsman, Stanno was impressed. He continued translating the passage aloud to her. It was a bit wordy, though. He would have appreciated it more if it was a bit more to the point.

"… _the clay, taken from the embrace of the earth, the flesh of Ishvala, as it were, must be treated with due reverence. He who delveth of the clay must be of an upright and proper mien, humble of heart and sure in his faith, elsewise the wine cradled in the k'vevri will be tainted withal of the bitterness of the sins of pride and greed…"_ Stanno rolled his eyes. "I doubt that."

"I'm pretty sure the point they're trying to make is to do it right," Rose countered. She propped her chin on her hand and smirked at her husband. "So are you actually going to go out and delveth the clay yourself?"

Stanno scoffed. "Not a chance. I'm going to get Damyan to do it, he being of an upright and proper mien, I'm sure."

"You mean you're going to pay him to do it."

"Yes, yes, I'm going to pay him to do it."

"Not to mention paying him to make one of these jars for you." Rose turned the page they'd been looking at to the next one, which had a picture of a person standing next to a jar that came up nearly to his shoulder. "That's gonna be a heck of a job of work."

* * *

"That's gonna be a heck of a job of work," Damyan remarked doubtfully as he considered the drawing and the accompanying text.

"But can you do it?" Stanno asked.

Damyan glanced from the pages in his hand to the carpenter's face. Stanno was not one of his favorite people. Years ago, after they had first returned to Ishval, Stanno and his cronies tried to assault Damyan's sister, Vesya, in some ill-considered, drunken tomfoolery. That wasn't something you easily forgot.

Admittedly, since then, the carpenter had mended his ways to the point where the respect he felt was due to him was mostly earned. This was on top of the fact that this was an amazing idea, something that Damyan would love to try his hand at. He remembered his father telling him, as a boy, about the lost art of _k'vevri_ making. Now, it appeared, it wasn't so lost. Still, it was going to take some work, especially if it was to be done right.

"It's not made on a wheel," Damyan observed. "It's a big coil pot. Really big."

Stanno nodded. The illustrations were very detailed and it was pretty clear even to someone who didn't work with clay. "I saw that. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, just time consuming." Damyan glanced over at his eldest, Fayruza. With her hair tied back, the girl was intent on the clay she was throwing on the wheel, pressing her hands in to give the shape height then pressing it down again. His little son Hayk was having fun slamming a lump of clay against a work table, forcing out air bubbles.

There were four other wheels being worked on in the studio. Damyan had taken on some other apprentices who had turned out to be very promising, and business was good. He could probably devote some time to a project like this without causing too much trouble.

Ever since the return of the Halik and the silt that flowed down from the mountains, the clay dug from its banks was finer and of better quality than what Damyan was used to when he was learning his family's craft. It was still red, but it was less coarse and almost closer to the consistency of Xingese _kaolin_ , which was a bitch to work with, drying out almost the moment air hit it, but it made beautiful pieces. Ishvalan clay was a lot more forgiving.

He finally nodded. "If I get my kids to help me, I could probably have one ready in about a week, maybe two."

Stanno seemed a little disappointed then resigned. "All right." He jerked his head toward the pages in Damyan's hand. "Are you going to need those? I'm borrowing them from the temple library and if anything happens to them, my soul's gonna be in peril."

Damyan was tempted to remark that Stanno's soul was way past that point, but he charitably forbore from doing so. "No, I think I've got the basics figured out." He smiled at some of the more descriptive passages. They may have been copied out by a priest, but only a potter could have understood clay like that.

"… _the fire must stay for three days and three nights until it speaks, whitening the bricks with sweetness. The k'vevri stay one day and one night more, and step by step, when more than half start glowing and redness and yellowness fade out, it says itself, 'it is enough'. When cooled, the k'vevri must have a ringing voice when struck, like that of a bell_ …"

To Damyan, it couldn't be clearer. He handed the pages back to Stanno. "No, I've got it. I'll let you know when it's ready. You're sure you just want one?"

Stanno nodded. "To start with. I don't want to make too much of something that might end up tasting like horse piss."

Damyan had to grin. "You're really going to go through with this? All the way?"

The carpenter shrugged. "I've come this far. I'm damned if I'm going to stop now."


	12. Wild Wine Pt 4

**Hey, Random Reviewer! I wanted to thank you for all your nice reviews. There's no reply option, and I keep forgetting to add a note where you can see it :)**

 **Wild Wine Pt 4**

A late summer sunset bathed Jasmine Court in a golden glow. Suppers had been eaten and many of the inhabitants were out enjoying the evening. Scar kept an eye on a group of children who were kicking a ball around, playing keep away. Mattas and Attar seemed to be having the most luck with the ball, until Winry, Mattas' twin, managed to steal it from both of them. Yelling, laughing, and chasing ensued, but no one had gotten hurt yet. It probably wouldn't take long, though.

"Have you heard what Stanno's up to?"

Scar turned as Miles stepped up to him. The colonel was out of uniform and dressed in cooler, more comfortable Ishvalan attire.

Scar nodded. "It sounds like something that will end in heartbreak."

"For whom?" Miles asked with a half grin.

Scar gave a quiet snort. "Not me." He shook his head. "I wouldn't have thought he had the attention span for something like that."

Miles chuckled quietly. "Then again, he might pull it off."

"Mm," Scar replied noncommittally. "Stanno is a fine carpenter, I'll grant him that. He learned his craft from his father, who learned it from his father, and so on. There are some things you can't just read from a book and expect to become a master at it. At best, it will take him several tries. And then he'll give up."

Miles grinned. "Care to make a wager?"

Scar shot him a look. "Are you serious?"

"Sure. Nothing big. I'll put a thousand cenz on Stanno to come up with a decent glass of wine."

Scar made a thoughtful grimace as his eyes followed the trio of older children as they jockeyed for the ball, the younger ones trailing behind. "I don't gamble as a rule. But then, either way, I can't lose."

"Oh? How's that."

"If Stanno fails, I get your money." The football bounced toward them and Winry, Mattas, and Attar charged up after it. Scar caught it with the outside of his right foot and the kids braced themselves, anticipating him to kick it off to his right. In a single motion, he rolled the ball to inside of his right foot then flicked it in the opposite direction. The kids yelled in outrage at this feint and scampered to change course. "If Stanno succeeds, he will have recreated a lost piece of our culture. So all of Ishval wins."

"In that case, let's make it two thousand."

* * *

Stanno stepped back and admired his handiwork. Sort of like a big boat, except for the hole in the bottom. More like a bathtub, really. The design was simple enough, although Stanno wasn't going to build anything, especially for himself, without making it a quality piece.

"What the hell is that?"

Stanno gave a jump and turned around. Standing in the wide doorway of the workshop was Shua, his fists on his hips, staring at the big wooden trough across the room.

"It's a _satsnakheli_."

Shua didn't look much more enlightened. "No kidding?"

"It's for making wine. You dump the grapes in there and stomp on them."

Shua barked out a laugh. " _Eh-h_ , I can't wait to see that!" He stepped up to get a closer look at the _satsnakheli._ "So, you're really doing this, eh?"

Stanno threw his hands up in the air. "Why does everybody keep asking me that?"

Shua clapped him on the back. "Well, as a fellow booze maker, I can only admire your balls. Let me know when you actually get to it. I'm all for a good laugh."

* * *

It was November. Ishval was abuzz with national events, foremost among these being the upcoming election. Old Grumman was finally stepping down, leaving the field clear for a range of contenders. Favored among these, in the eastern part of Amestris, anyway, was Major General Roy Mustang. He had some tough competition, not the least of which was a nasty piece of work (in the opinion of some, at least) coming out of West City.

Right now, though, politics were at the back of Stanno's mind. On this cool morning, he was busy scrubbing his feet and those of his two boys. They giggled and kicked at the water as Stanno applied a washcloth to their soles.

"Don't move!" he warned Patrick as he was drying off Kosha's feet with a clean towel. "You sit tight until I'm done here." He straightened up and lifted Kosha onto the step ladder, also cleaned carefully, that led up to the edge of the _satsnakheli_. "Now climb in there and stay still while I get your brother."

Stanno then grabbed Patrick under the arms, carrying him so his feet wouldn't touch the floor, and set him on the ladder as well. The boy mounted the steps and climbed carefully over the edge of the wooden trough. The boys giggled but held onto the edges.

Finally, Stanno gave his feet one last washing and stepped along a path of clean towels and onto the ladder. Climbing over the edge of the trough, he lowered his feet carefully onto the mass of grapes that he'd harvested on his latest trip out to the foothills. He and Patrick had taken several more trips out to the foothills to untangle the grape vines, trim away the dead weight, and put them in some sort of order on some wood and wire frames that Stanno had thrown together from scrap. It might not have looked like a fancy Aerugan vineyard, but it was a lot tidier and easier to take care of.

He'd had to set the _satsnakheli_ fairly high, and his head was just brushing the ceiling. At one end of the trough was a hole through which the pressings would drain down into a chute, where it would travel, skins, stems, seeds, and all, into the waiting _k'vevri_. Stanno had to hand it to Damyan. The jar rang like a bell when tapped with a rock. It was a thing of beauty. Damyan had even painstakingly brushed the whole inside surface with melted beeswax. Then it had to be lifted onto the back of Stanno's truck to get it to his house. It had cost him a pretty cenz, but it was, after all, an investment.

The action, according to the ancient writings, was _stumping._ Despite what it might sound like, it was not a combination of stomping and jumping, but more of a pressing with the heels. He and the boys had practiced for a bit first, standing on Stanno's bed, and although Kosha didn't quite get it, his help was still enlisted.

"All right, boys," Stanno announced. "Start stumping."

It was an odd sensation. Stepping on was what was essentially food seemed liked something you shouldn't be doing. It also attracted attention. Stanno could have kept the doors to his workshop closed, but it was a nice day and they needed the light. Inevitably, since this was Ishval, rumor had spread like fire in dry grass, and what seemed like the whole neighborhood and then some had come to gawk. There were even some tourists from the Desert Dove hotel down the street who were peering over the locals' shoulders.

People started laughing until the first stream of liquid started flowing down the wooden chute and into the mouth of the five-foot-tall _k'vevri_. The detritus of skins and stems, called _dedo_ , went with it. Then there were cries of amazement and a lot of pointing and craning of necks to get a better look.

"Excuse me! Pardon me! I have to capture this for posterity! Oh, sorry, ma'am!" A young Amestrian woman with light brown hair pushed her way through the crowd and walked right into the workshop.

Dorothea McNeese, or just Dot, as she preferred, was the daughter of Sebastian McNeese and his wife, Isabella, the youngest sibling of Phillip Gargantos Armstrong. Dot was holding a camera with a flash affixed to the top.

"You started without me!" she cried in dismay. "I promised Dad I'd get it all!"

Stanno could only shrug. "We only just started. You haven't missed that much."

Dot started snapping pictures, quickly advancing the film and swapping out burnt flashbulbs. She took pictures from all angles, from Stanno and his boys stomping up in their trough, to the sturdy framework that held it aloft, to the chute down which the golden liquid was now flowing, to the wide _k'vevri_ that was starting to fill up.

Dot paused for a few moments. "There's an awful lot of chunky stuff getting in there. Are you sure that's right? Are you going to strain it?"

"No," Stanno called down. "That's what's supposed to give this wine its distinctive quality." He grinned as a thought struck him. "It's like keeping a family together. And we Ishvalans are all about family."

* * *

It had been nearly a year. There didn't seem to be a specific length of time in which to let the wine sit. It easily varied between different wine makers, the same way everybody's _baata_ had a different way of making goat stew. It could have been as early as three or four months, or it could have been as long as three or four years. Stanno figured he'd split the difference, more or less.

Rose patiently supported her husband's endeavor, although she was less than thrilled with having her garden dug up to accommodate the enormous _k'vevri_ , which had to be buried to maintain a constant temperature.

The really hard part had been transferring the wine to smaller _k'vevri_ (another investment of time and money and which also had to be buried) to allow the solid pieces to settle to the bottom of the jars, letting the wine filter itself. The manuscript had another section on reusing the now fermented sediment, called the _ch'aa_ , to make a kind of potent brandy, which was nothing but a bonus, as far as Stanno was concerned.

Finally, just a week before that year's harvest festival, Stanno and Rose had carefully pulled up small buckets full of a pleasantly golden amber liquid from the buried _k'vevri._

"You're going to have to find another place to bury these," Rose said.

"One thing at a time, sweetheart," Stanno assured her.

Rose just rolled her eyes and straightened up to stretch her sore back.

The next evening, Stanno invited Dr. McNeese, Scar, Miles, Damyan, and Shua to his house. As an afterthought, since he'd had his part to play in this drama, he even invited _Saahad_ Mazur. On the kitchen table, Stanno had a large ceramic jug and a collection of cups. He finished pouring out a portion of pale golden liquid from the jug into each cup, slowly so as to build up the dramatic tension, then set the jug down. He picked up one of the cups.

" _Zhaaradi_ ," he announced to his guests, adding with a slight bow to the priest, " _Saahad_ , please help yourselves."

Everyone picked up a cup and watched Stanno, anticipating a certain measure of ceremony. Stanno lifted his cup a little higher. " _Ho'avaat_!"

" _Ho'avaat_ ," the other replied and raised their cups to their lips.

Stanno watched them over the rim of his cup. He had already sampled the fruits of his considerable labor. He wanted to see their reactions. He paid special attention to Dr. McNeese, who apparently had a discerning palate. He seemed to be really tasting it, rather than just drinking it.

It was a little quiet at first. Finally, Shua declared, "Damn, that's good!"

Having let his first mouthful sit on his tongue for a moment, Seb swallowed and remarked thoughtfully, "Apple. A bit of peach. A little lemony." He tilted his head a little. "There's definitely a decent level of tannin, so it's not too sweet. There's a hint of walnut as well."

Stanno was impressed, but it was nothing compared to his first taste of the wine yesterday. Actually, now that it had been sitting in the jug and exposed to the air, it had taken on a sort of rounder, fruitier taste.

 _Saahad_ Mazur considered his cup meditatively. He took another sip, then nodded his head. He looked over at Stanno.

"I'm not the expert that _Zhaarad_ McNeese is, but I have to say, I did not expect this to be so pleasant."

Stanno smiled and bowed his head. Last night he and Rose had worked out their joy at such an astounding, glorious success. Now he could afford to not gloat.

Scar drained his cup. "Ishvala!" he remarked quietly, shaking his head. "You've done it, Stanno. I thought you were mad, but you've actually done it."

"You honor me, _Zhaarad_ Andakar, truly!" Stanno replied, adding when he saw Scar's slightly narrowed, suspicious look, "No, honestly! I'm honored!"

Miles nudged Scar "And you're two thousand cenz poorer." He raised his cup to Stanno. "Thanks!"

Stanno looked from him to Scar, not sure whether he should feel insulted or flattered. "You two had a bet going?"

 _Saahad_ Mazur looked scandalized. "Did you, _Zhaarad_ _Khorovar_?"

 _Leave it to Mazur to be better than Andakar at sucking the fun out of everything,_ Stanno thought.

"Well, according to Andakar, Ishval's the real winner." Miles grinned slyly. "He still owes me two thousand."

Damyan helped himself to more wine. "Are you going to need more _k'vevri_?"

"Well…" Stanno began.

"You'd damn well better!" Shua declared, holding his cup out for Damyan to fill. "When this is gone, I'm gonna want more! Not to mention you'll make a bloody fortune."

"And advance our culture," Mazur added primly.

The others looked at him expectantly.

Stanno let out a sigh. This was exactly what he had wanted, and it couldn't have had a better result. But it was a monumental undertaking. The thought of going through it all again, and on a suitably larger scale, was more than he could face at the moment. Then he remembered something Rose had said after she'd given birth to their second child.

 _You know, after the first one, I wasn't sure I wanted to go through all that again._ Then she smiled as she looked down at Kosha's little scrunched up face. _But even after all that, it was really worth it._

If she could carry a child for nine months and labor for ten hours to bring him safely into the world, Stanno could do no less than give life to the fruit of the vine grown and nurtured in the embrace of the earth, Ishvala's flesh, so to speak.


	13. Fearless

**This is an actual one-shot. With her permission, I'm borrowing a character from Teej's work "Sons Of The Desert: Survivor", Eamon Taige. I'm also making a quick reference to a breed of horse that Teej has called an Istiqan, which is native to Ishval.**

* * *

 **Fearless**

Now that Ishval had an actual school system and a school board to go with it, it was decided that Ishval should have its own school schedule, not one that simply copied the Amestrian version. Summer vacation had been a new concept to Ishval, one that was experimented with and found to be pointless. In Amestris, it had grown not out of the idea of rural children being freed from school to help with the harvest, since that came later in the fall, but from more prosperous Amestrian city dwellers taking their children out of school to escape the sweltering urban heat. Since Ishvalans already knew how to deal with the heat, that wasn't an issue.

So it was decided by the Isvhalan school board that rather than a long break in the summer, there would be four three-week breaks spaced throughout the year. The breaks coordinated with significant events in the Ishvalan calendar, such as the coming of the rains in the summer and the harvest festival in the fall. They didn't coordinate with the Amestrian system, but nobody cared about that. With these shorter breaks, not only did Ishvalan students spend more time in school than their Amestrian counterparts, it was also reasoned that they would be less likely to forget what they had learned. As far as Scar was concerned, if he taught somebody something, they stayed taught, but he did like the idea of children not being idle for too long.

That still left plenty of time for mischief.

From the time Mattas could pull himself up to a standing position, he was a climber. Chairs, tables, benches, his parents' laps, whatever he could climb was the next conquest. Trees were the next great challenge, and there wasn't a single tree in Jasmine Court that Mattas hadn't scaled. As time went by, the _meskaa_ trees lost their shiny appeal, not being very tall. The larger cottonwoods that grew along the banks of the Halik were much more attractive, and any trip to the river found Mattas up a tree rather than in the water with his siblings. The older he got, the higher he would go. Even at the tender age of eight, he realized what a sense of freedom it gave him, to be above the rooftops, above everyone else, master of his own world and his own fate.

 _You're going to fall and break your arm_ became something of a mantra for his parents. It did finally happen, but rather than generating a sense of caution along the lines of _once bitten twice shy_ , Mattas was all the more resolved to reach the highest heights. He was never concerned for his safety. He was convinced that he was in complete control of any situation. He was fearless. The only exception was a thunderstorm, a random phenomenon over which he had no control. It was almost as if Ishvala was reminding him who was in charge. That was when, as much as he tried to tough it out, he would be darting for shelter in his father's strong embrace. Once the clouds cleared, however, he was back in control and once again fearless.

During this particular summer holiday, in between the vivid thunderstorms that marked the season, another pastime recommended itself, surpassing even tree climbing. There was a particularly large cottonwood tree with a branch stretching over the riverbank. One morning while his father was away at the governor's office, Mattas stuffed a rope from the garden shed into an army surplus knapsack and journeyed to the Halik. He took a bus part of the way, innocently telling the driver that he was going to do some odd jobs at the Armstrong's winter house, which was closer to the river. The driver was a young man and well recalled the lure of adventure from his own childhood. So although he harbored his suspicions, he silently wished Mattas luck and dropped the boy off near the Armstrong's. Mattas marched purposefully toward the house's gate just until the bus turned a curve and went out of sight. He chuckled to himself and jogged the rest of the way to the river. He stopped on the way to rest and eat some snacks he'd packed and drink some water from a canteen, also army surplus. Refreshed, he trotted the rest of the way.

Finding the tree he had in mind, he scampered up its trunk. Tying one end securely to the tree limb, Mattas gripped the other end tightly and launched himself. The thrill was glorious as he swung down. The rope was just the right length for his feet to skim across the surface of the water before swinging back up the highest point. Gripping the rope with his feet and whooping crazily, he pumped his legs, lengthening the distance each time until he was travelling a nearly 180-degree arc.

A trio of soldiers returning from a patrol of the southern border happened to be on the opposite bank as the tree branch finally cracked and peeled away from the tree's trunk. The branch, the rope, and the kid all landed in the Halik.

Mattas was a fairly good swimmer, but the Halik was running high from the summer rains and the current was strong. The leader of the mounted patrol, Lieutenant Eamon Taige, leaped off his mount and ran, throwing off his jacket and nearly stumbling as he pulled off his boots. He bounded up a pile of rocks and onto a boulder, where he launched the length of him into the river. Like other Ishvalans of his generation, he had not learned how to swim growing up in Ishval. At the time, there was nothing to swim in. He didn't learn until he went through army training. Lucky for Mattas.

Cutting through the swift current with powerful strokes, Taige soon caught up with the boy, who was sputtering and only barely keeping his nose above the water. Wrapping one arm around Mattas, Taige cut across the current with a one-armed stroke to reach the bank. He set Mattas down on the sand as the boy coughed up water.

Catching his breath, Taige bent down, bracing his hands on his knees. "I'm going to hazard a guess that your parents don't know you're here."

Mattas was starting to shiver, less from the cold and more from the close call. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He looked up miserably from under his dripping bangs and shook his head.

Taige nodded. "That's what I thought." He straightened as the other two soldiers came trotting up, having retrieved the lieutenant's horse, jacket, and boots.

"That was pretty spectacular, kid," one of them remarked.

"Your pop's gonna fry your backside," the other added cheerfully.

Mattas shot him a sullen glare and Taige waved his hand. "I think he's already pretty mindful of that, Private."

Mattas looked up at Taige and, feeling out of temper with the other soldiers, spoke in Ishvalan. "Are you gonna tell my papa?"

Taige sighed and lowered himself to a crouch in front of the boy. "I'm afraid so, _laahat_. Best to get it over with."

Mattas was less inclined to think that was the best course of action, but he wasn't about to let the Amestrians see him cower. He got to his feet and raised his chin as he followed Taige to the side of his mount. The officer lifted him up into the saddle then mounted behind him.

Getting to ride on one of the Istiqans would normally have been an adventure in itself, but Mattas wasn't in much of a mood to enjoy it. Even the pleasant clopping of iron shod hooves over the bridge that spanned the Halik was eclipsed by the dread that lay in Mattas' stomach.

Taige told the other soldiers to go ahead on to the fort without him, telling them to relay the message of his side mission to Colonel Miles. So the patrol parted ways, the soldiers heading east to the fort and Taige riding toward the provincial seat of government in Gunja. He even urged his horse into a canter, which Mattas couldn't help but enjoy, but even that was short-lived.

To add insult to injury, thunderheads were starting to form over the eastern mountains, portending a storm later. Mattas regarded them with sullen resignation.

They passed the Great Temple and headed on to the administrative center. It was noon by this time, and their clothes were nearly dry. Taige ducked his head as he steered his mount through the arched gateway that led to the government offices.

"Are you gonna stay?" Mattas asked, trying not to show how anxious he was.

"I'll make my report," Taige replied, keeping a somber expression, "then I'll be on my way."

Mattas wasn't very cheered by that. He slid down from the saddle and after Taige ground reined his mount, he followed the lieutenant to the office of the _khorovar_.

Since school was out, Naisha was in the front office, filling in as the _khorovar's_ secretary. She had the telephone receiver to her ear, and as soon as she saw the two enter, she spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Oh! It's all right, he just walked in with Taige. Thanks, Jean!"

She hung up the phone and considered the boy. "Been out on a tear, Mattas?" she asked. "Your parents have been worried sick, you know."

Mattas didn't offer an explanation, his mind growing more burdened with the weight of consequences.

Naisha looked up at Taige. "What did you catch him at?"

"I fished him out of the Halik," the lieutenant replied.

Naisha let out a whistle and propped her chin on her hand. "I didn't know you liked fishing."

Taige grinned. "You should have seen the one that got away."

Naisha rolled her eyes and reached for the telephone. "Would you like me to announce you or do you want to surprise him?"

Taige shook his head, steering Mattas toward the inner door. "I'll knock."

"Fine." Naisha turned back to her typewriter. "Good luck, Mattas."

Mattas ignored her, his stomach twisting in knots. Taige rapped sharply on the thick oak door and waited.

"Come in!" snapped a deep voice from within.

Taige opened the door and nudged Mattas through. Inside the office, pacing behind a large desk as far as the telephone cord would allow, his body tense with urgency, was the _khorovar_ of Ishval.

"Have you checked down by—" As soon as the two entered to room, Scar stilled and, after a look of relief visited his features, glared at them. Not shifting his gaze, he growled into the phone. "Never mind. He's just been brought in."

He dropped the receiver into the cradle and, after considering his wayward son, Scar turned to Taige.

"Well?"

"We'd just come back from a routine sweep of the southern border." Taige jerked his head toward the boy. "As we were riding along the south bank of the Halik close to the edge of Kanda, I witnessed young Mattas here getting some pretty good height on a rope swing." The lieutenant gave a thin, wry smile. "Unfortunately, the tree must have had enough of him and dunked him in the river. I jumped in after him, and making sure he hadn't hurt anything worse than his dignity, I brought him here." He stiffened to attention. "Request permission to hand him over to your care, _Zhaarad_!"

Scar nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you for finding my son. I'll deal with him from here."

Taige brought his heels together with an official click and did an about face, tousling Mattas' hair as he left.

Scar leaned against top of his desk, letting his head droop and letting the tension flow out of his shoulders. He then turned an uncompromising gaze onto his son.

"Do you have _any_ idea how worried I was?"

Mattas could only give a little lift to his shoulders. That was generally not part of the equation when he planned these adventures. He was never worried, so why should anyone else be?

The boy's silence only frustrated his father even more. "Your mother has been frantic!" He pushed away from the desk, raising himself to his full height. "Not only that, but you _lied_ to her! You told her you were going to a friend's house!"

Mattas already knew that, and it seemed imprudent to state the obvious.

Scar pushed his fingers through his hair. "If you have no concern for your own safety, can you at least spare a moment's thought for your parents' feelings?"

Well, that question pretty much answered itself. Mattas gave a jump as his father slammed his palms against the desk top. " _Well?_ "

The boy gulped, his throat suddenly dry. "I…I wanted to…" By this time, even Mattas had to admit it was going to sound dumb. "I wanted to swing from a tree branch over the river."

His father said nothing for a few moments, but his fierce glower spoke volumes. He drummed the fingers of one hand on the desk top. Finally he spoke. "I don't understand why you do these things, Mattas."

Maybe the obvious was the only way to go. "Because it was fun." His shoulders stirred and he mumbled, "I mean, until the branch broke."

Scar didn't seem to appreciate his son's sudden burst of honesty. "You could have drowned! If Lieutenant Taige hadn't been there, you could have died! Why don't you think about these things!"

Mattas honestly couldn't answer that. "I dunno."

Scar let out a burst of air, his frustration spent. He strode around the desk and dropped his hand on Mattas' shoulder, spinning the boy around and propelling him toward the door. "First, we're going to the temple."

* * *

While his father waited outside, Mattas knelt in front of the altar of the Great Temple, trying to think very hard about his transgressions. Yes, he did something wrong, but he was having trouble feeling much remorse about it. If the branch hadn't broken, everything would have been fine. The rope he'd tied to the branch was halfway to Aerugo by now. He'd also left his knapsack and canteen at the base of the tree. He'd miss those, and he didn't think any more trips to the river were in the offing for a while. He supposed lying to his mother was pretty bad. He had also lied to the bus driver. He hadn't mentioned that to his father.

He let out a deep sigh at the unfairness of it all. _Saahad_ Bozidar, who was hovering nearby, stepped up close.

"Have you thought about what you did, my son?" he asked gently.

"I guess so." Mattas wasn't sure how Ishvala had taken it, but he'd done as much thinking about it as he could.

Bozidar chuckled quietly and sat down on the altar steps. "Sometimes being young is harder than being a grownup. So much is expected of you, and yet you haven't lived quite long enough to gain the common sense that only comes with growing up."

Mattas could only nod in agreement.

"But you know that all the rules your parents give you to obey are meant to keep you safe. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah…" Mattas conceded.

"Why do you think they worry so much about you?"

Mattas looked up at the old priest. "'Cuz…they don't want me to get hurt?"

Bozidar nodded. "No, they certainly don't. That's because they love you."

Mattas was abstractly aware of that, the same way he was aware that the sun always came up in the morning. He never actually thought about it. It was even harder to imagine it when his father got that profoundly angry, disappointed look on his face. It had occurred to Mattas that when he did something right, his father was not correspondingly overjoyed. Sure, he was pleased and proud, but as a reward, it didn't satisfy nearly as much as swinging high into the air over a swiftly flowing river. He wasn't sure anyone else could really appreciate that.

Right now he just wanted to get off his knees and go home. "I know," he said. "And I'm sorry."

The old priest smiled and stood up, reaching down to lay his hand on the boy's head. "Receive the blessing of Ishvala in the hope that you find the peace that you seek."

Mattas was pretty sure he wasn't getting any peace for a while. "Thanks, _Saahad_."

He left the temple, joining his father at the door. Having to face Ishvala had been easy. His father jerked his head toward the steps and started walking. Mattas followed.

"You're going to do everyone else's chores for the rest of the school break," his father declared.

" _Everyone's?_ " Mattas groaned.

Scar turned to shoot him a dark look. "Yes. Everyone's. You have no school work to attend to. You'll have plenty of time."

"But, what if—"

"You'll also not be allowed to leave the house or the yard for the rest of the break. You'll come with us to prayers at the temple, but that is the only time you'll go out until school starts."

Mattas' mouth dropped open and he stopped walking. That was a whole week and a half. "I can't leave at _all_?"

His father turned and regarded him with an obdurate scowl. "No. If you can't be trusted to not run off and do something foolish, then you'll stay at home." He turned abruptly and continued on his way.

When they got home, his mother made a fuss over him, alternately tender and angry. He spent the rest of the afternoon sweeping the entire house, including the roof, weeding and watering the garden, cleaning up after the dog, bringing in the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, picking and trimming green beans for dinner, and washing, drying, and putting away the dishes after dinner. He did it all in a sullen silence.

When he went to bed he was exhausted but too angry to sleep. He lay for a while considering all the injustices of life. And to make matters worse, thunder once again grumbled in the distance. Rain began to patter against the window, growing harder minute by minute. He turned over in his bed and curled into a tense ball, trying to ignore the increasing flashes of lightning and the accompanying thunder. In the other bed, his brother Turyan slept the deep sleep of the innocent.

He finally fell into a doze. Then he was jarred awake by a flash of lightning burning white, even through his closed lids. Following swiftly on top of it was a deafening, cracking boom of thunder.

Mattas threw off his blanket and dashed downstairs. Another crack of thunder seemed to chase him, biting at his heels. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he hurried to the door of his parents' room and pushed it open. Breathing hard, his heart pounding, he stood at the side of the bed, willing his father to wake up.

After yet another crack of thunder, Mattas let out a little whimper. In the light of another flicker of lightning, he could see the shine of his father's eyes as they looked at him. Mattas just stood there miserably, saying nothing. He knew on a certain level that he didn't really deserve to be here, but on a more instinctual level, it was the only place he could be.

He heard his father sigh. "Aren't you getting a little old for this?"

Even in a whisper, he could hear in his father's voice that he'd already resigned to lose that argument. Mattas slipped under the blanket and felt the heavy, reassuring weight of an arm envelop him. As he wrapped his hands around the muscular forearm, his father drew him closer and planted a kiss on the back of his head.

With a contented sigh, Mattas drifted off to sleep.


	14. In The Days of the Princes

**This chapter was contributed by Teej, who wrote "Sons of the Desert: Survivor", a spinoff of this series. If you haven't read it, you ought to, because it's good and because this chapter features her OCs.**

* * *

 **In the Days of the Princes**

 **Old Ishval Ruins - 1923**

"First Lieutenant Taige!"

Alex Armstrong's voice boomed across the wasteland of ruins.

Taige, mounted on his cremolla mare, reached out, laying a reassuring hand on her neck as she threw her head up, startled at the outburst. Her reaction caused the same response in the horse next to him. Veela instantly spun the bay away, giving the two horses a little space to settle back down. She began speaking softly in Ishvallan to her horse as he jigged nervously, tossing his head up and down.

Both animals, Wahiran Istiqans, glimmered with a metallic shine, their breed's most distinctive characteristic. Long-bodied creatures, besides being tall, they were horses renowned for their long-distance endurance.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit today?" Armstrong continued as he approached the two.

Veela, no matter what horse she was ever on, looked ridiculously tiny in proportion to the horse. She rose in the stirrups, letting the bay dance his nervousness out. His coat shone like a copper cenz piece. It seemed strange that a person as petite as Veela could easily control a horse as big as an Istiqan. But control him she did, due to years of working with the animals alongside her father.

"Please, Major..." Taige said, trying to hide a smirk. "Indoor voice?"

"Oh! Of course, of course!" Alex replied, lowering his tone and reaching out to catch the bridle of Veela's bay. The horse instantly calmed down, his head under control, only his ears betraying his nervousness. "I'm afraid the more conversational tone of speaking was not something passed down to me through the Armstrong generations..." Alex said, sheepishly.

Veela smiled slightly at Alex, reaching out to pat the horse's neck.

Eamon Taige, Fort Ishval's other Ishvallan officer, was off duty for the week. He was dressed comfortably in Ishvallan clothes, same as his daughter, with his hair clubbed back as usual. Veela had a simple folded scarf pulling a thick mound of white curls away from her face, to spill down her back. Both wore riding boots instead of sandals. They also had on the distinctive coral and black striped sashes worn by 'proper' Ishvallans.

Besides being a member of Colonel Mile's formidable unit and head of his MP's, Taige -outside of military circles- had become known for restoring a breed of horses long thought to have been destroyed during the War of Extermination. Ishval's own, incredibly rare, Wahiran Istiqans.

As one of the last surviving members of a horse breeding family, he could trace his roots back centuries. Taige relaxed, crossing his scarred wrists over the pommel of his saddle. "We're out doing some training on the zhiiyu here. We thought we'd ride out here and see how the dig is going?"

Alex, wearing a respectable suit, sans jacket, and a straw hat, had joined his father and uncle in helping with the great excavation work being done on the extensive ruins of Old Ishval. It had been the original seat of Ishvallan culture and civilization before an earthquake had dried up the mighty river that flowed through their land. Doctor Sebastian McNeese was heading up the dig, Alex and Philip were lending their talents at drawing up the artefacts that they were finding.

McNeese, in his eagerness to push to the Great Temple to begin work there, has split his crew of archaeologists into three. Those working at the leading edge of the city, those working near the Great Temple, and those working on what was believed to be the old Palace, where Ishvallan royalty once ruled. Even at this early stage of excavation, treasures untold were being found.

"You've come at a most fortuitous time!" Alex nearly boomed again. Idly stroking the muzzle of Veela's bay he added. "Uncle thinks he may have come across a treasury for the Royal Palace. They are making some incredible finds in there, now that they've got the entrance cleared to reach it."

"Oh really?" Taige asked.

"And beautifully preserved!" Alex added. "Keeping things underground and protected was a master stroke of your people! Come, come with me and I will show you what Uncle's crew found today! Who knows," Alex said as he reached out and took the cremolla's bridle in his hand. "We may need the Fort's MP's to guard the things we're finding!"

Taige shot an amused glance at his daughter as he shook his foot loose and dropped to the ground.

"Allow me to hand you down from your mount, Miss Veela!" Alex said stepping to one side as he released Taige's mare. He gave Veela his hand as she too followed her father's practise and dropped out of the saddle.

"Thank you, Zhaarad Armstrong," She said softly, reaching up to flip the reins over the top of the bay's head. She settled them in the crook of her arm as Taige followed suite.

"It is entirely my pleasure!" Armstrong replied gallantly, presenting his arm, palm up, to reveal the layout of the archaeological dig. "I would be honoured to show you the site!"

Several tents had been set up, some over tables where students worked at carefully brushing dirt and other things from artefacts that had been found. Other tents had been set up over excavations in progress, and a few others covered seating areas and a 'kitchen' of sorts. A small fleet of cars and trucks were parked nearby. Every ounce of shade was being taken advantage of.

Alex, doing his courtly best, showed the pair around the site, explaining how large jugs and pottery had been found buried in what were apparently gardens attached to houses. Speculation ran rife that the largest jugs were used for wine making. Eventually he led them further into the ruins, pausing briefly at where attempts were being made to clear out an entrance leading underground at what was once the Great Temple of Old Ishval. Bozidar, the current head priest of Ishval was convinced that a catacomb of rooms lay under the temple, housing books and relics from the times of the Princes.

Underground, out of heat and carefully maintained at a steady temperature could mean that things were far more preserved than what was being found at the outskirts of the ruins. A great deal of hope was being placed on the outcome of what was found at the bottom of the entrance. It was here, in the shelter of a few remaining stone columns, Taige and Veela ground tied their mounts and followed their host.

Alex led them towards what was the probable location of the royal Palace grounds. It was here that the worst of the damage from the Great quake had occurred. So far only one underground room had been located and it was providing a great deal of excitement in what had been found. Tents set up similarly as those at the leading edge of the ruins, had many different artefacts laid out.

Short swords, knives, stirrup irons, rings, necklaces, even whip handles, the lashes long rotted away, with various other tools lay about in different stages of cleaning and cataloguing. Under the tables were stacked several padlocked metal boxes for storage and protection.

People were going into and emerging from the entrance, carrying things as they went. Doctor Sebastian McNeese was one of them. He spotted Taige and immediately rushed over to greet him, several students trailing in his wake.

"Ahhh, Lieutenant Taige!" He said reaching out a hand. "I'm honoured you should come out here!"

Taige looked a little bemused and shook the archaeologist's hand. "Have we met?"

"Forgive me, but Alex has told me of the most remarkable job you are doing to preserve those astonishing Ishvalan horses you breed! We haven't actually met but I know you by reputation." McNeese smiled at him.

To his right, Taige heard his daughter snicker. He shook his head slightly (he knew he had a reputation in more ways than one) and focused on the archaeologist. "I'm afraid you have me at a slight disadvantage. How do you know of me?"

McNeese ploughed on, turning to his students, he pointed a finger over his shoulder at Taige. "This man, single-handedly, is bringing back a breed of horse from near extinction. For the Ishvalan people, it's a critical element of restoring their culture." McNeese turned back to Taige, clapping him on the shoulder. "And where a people's culture is concerned, especially Ishvallan culture, I make it my job to know as much as possible. It's life's blood to an archaeologist!"

"Ah..." Taige nodded understanding. "Well," he paused and cast a look at his daughter, raising a mocking eyebrow. "I'm obliged."

"You're coming by must be a sign," McNeese said with a mischievous grin. "We've found something in this underground room that I think may be of great interest to you. Let me show it to you. See if what I am thinking is right." He dropped Taige's hand and turned towards the entryway.

"Follow me!"

He led them into a long, narrow underground chamber. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Several large kerosene lanterns illuminated the half demolished and cluttered room. It was noticeable cooler, a great relief, and several students were busy at work around a table that had been set up in the centre.

"Have a look at this..." McNeese said, leading Taige and Veela over to the table. There was a very large bundle of crusty, dirty cloth that had been carefully prised open and folded back. Taige frowned. It looked a lot like oilcloth canvas, only the material appeared to be more gauze-like.

"We think it's actually cotton and silk gauze soaked in some sort of organic wax then used to wrap up the items for preservation. I know the foothills farther east have snow berries and the like growing around in the higher elevations, maybe they were harvested and boiled for the wax."

"Maybe so," Taige rumbled thoughtfully. "More probable they used bayberry and mixed it with beeswax. It's how a lot of 'rich man's candles' were made. Along with waxed cloth. We still make candles like this, moppet and I." Taige glanced at his daughter. "They smell nice too."

"Ahhh," McNeese murmured, his blue eyes twinkling. "That sounds much more feasible than soaking the cloth in just straight berry wax, depending on the species of berry. Bayberries would be better suited too." He shook his runaway train of thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. "Anyway, when we teased this parcel open this is what we found..." McNeese rambled a moment, then drew Taige closer to the table.

It had been an enormous bundle. And what was inside was astonishing indeed.

A large bolt of cloth, deep, deep burgundy in colour with a fringe of shimmering gold all the way around was bordered in a broad band of spirals and cloud like-designs. Each design was filled in with glittering metallic green, blue, red, gold or silver. It had two large burgundy loops at one end. The material appeared not unlike velvet. What must have been the silver thread had long tarnished and now shimmered with an oily sheen of colours, a condition known as being case-hardened.

Veela, always the visual one, gasped at the intricacy of the stitching and colours.

That, however, didn't beat what was inside that bundle of cloth.

Four golden collars, all of which were studded with rows of small gold pyramids, interspersed with glowing green stones, lay shining in the light of the kerosene lanterns. The largest of the collars, though, was huge. The two ends of the collar connected to a disk of gold the size of a tea plate. In its centre was a solid green circle of stone with gold pyramids radiating away and up the two long straps. From the bottom edge of the disk dangled a gold square, also studded and sporting a green stone at its centre.

Along the edge of this piece's straps dangled gold coins, each with a spear of gold hanging from them thus creating a stunning centrepiece of a collar. All four collars had been painstakingly stamped onto thick leather straps, then sewn onto a backing strap. Each one had a gold buckle and tongue to strap onto whatever they were to be placed upon.

McNeese glanced at Taige. "My students have a thought what these may be for, but your being here may confirm it for me."

"What might that be?" Taige countered.

"They think they may have been for camels, especially because of that bigger piece."

Taige gave McNeese a ghost of a smirk. "How delicate are these?" He asked looking the collars over, almost reverently. McNeese could easily see that Taige knew exactly what they were for.

"They are solid enough, including that covering cloth. For something being almost a thousand years old, they are in extraordinary shape."

"Can we handle them?" Taige asked, looking at McNeese sharply.

"Do you know what they are?" The Doctor asked.

Taige smiled, "I certainly do." He straightened and looked at his daughter. "Pet? Go get zhiiyu."

Veela, her eyes gleaming and curious, nodded and scampered off.

Taige looked at McNeese. "I can do you one better, if we can handle them. I can show you exactly what they were for."

"I thought you might!" McNeese said, trying to hide his excitement. "Can you think of why they were so protected?"

"That's a Prince's ransom in gold and malachite there... I bet someone in the household staff started wrapping things in these bundles to hide them from looters. When the first tremors began before the Great Earthquake hit, or maybe even afterwards, they wouldn't know if another quake would strike or not, so they hid them. They were never able to come back and retrieve the items."

"That is a very plausible theory!" McNeese sighed in satisfaction. "All right, kids!" Sebastian said to the cluster of college students around them. "Carefully, carefully gather these up and bring them outside. I think we're about to get a demonstration of their true purpose!"

Veela, having guessed what was going to happen, had pulled her bay's saddle and blanket off of him and stood outside the excavation tunnel holding onto his bridle. The horse's extraordinary coat gleamed in the sunlight.

Soon the students were standing around the horse, some reaching out tentatively to touch him, other's murmuring about him.

"What's his name?" One of the students asked.

Veela, standing in front of the horse, holding the halter portion of his bridle in both hands, gave the students an enigmatic smile. "He's called zhiiyu for now. His name hasn't been revealed yet."

"What d'you mean his name hasn't been revealed?" The student asked.

Another slapped his arm. "Ishvalan names are sacred, idiot! Don't you remember the prep courses to coming here?"

"Even for horses?"

"Even for horses," Taige replied in his bass rumble of a voice. "Until a name is revealed, we call the horses our little brothers or little sisters. Zhiiyu or zhiiya. That's a standard that has lasted for thousands of years."

Alex Armstrong, who was diligently and rapidly sketching something in his art book, smiled benignly. "Passed down through countless generations! How sublime!"

Taige smirked with amusement then nodded his head towards the cream coloured mare he preferred riding. Her coat shimmered in the light and with her pale blue eyes she looked like an otherworldly creature. "My zhiiya over there is called Begane. In Ishvalan that means exotic. Rather fitting for her, eh?"

There were a few murmurs of interest then another student piped up. "What about this horse though?"

"In his case, he's still our zhiiyu," Veela said, looking into the horse's eyes, reaching up and stroking his nose.

"Or 'you big oaf', until something more dignified is presented to us." Taige added, eliciting giggles and chuckles from the group. He smirked, slapping the horse's neck. "Ishvala eventually will reveal a name to our little brother in time and that's what he'll be called." He looked around the crowd.

"Who's got the smallest collar?" He asked, and a student eagerly stepped up beside him. Taige reached over and carefully took it from her hands.

Deftly, and with an almost instant expertise, he attached the collar at the top of the horse's neck. The animal seemed to undergo an immediate transformation. He lifted his head up higher, exposing just how long his neck really was. Taige smirked, his eyes twinkling at the animal's response as he settled the buckle at the top of where the mane should have been growing.

"Is this why you shave the mane's off these horses?" One of the students asked, as another student handed him the next sized collar.

"Yeah, seems a shame you'd have cut off whatever it is that keeps the flies out of their face." Piped up a second student.

"No, that's not why," Taige said slipping the second collar on under the first one and securing the buckle. "Istiqan's manes and tails are pretty thin and wispy. No flowing locks on these creatures. It's a desert adaptation. They have longer eye lashes, against flies and the sand. Plus, we make leather fringes for the halters to help keep the flies off their face. The manes are so sparse and thin it looks a damned sight better shaving them off then letting them keep them." As he set then second collar into a place a few inches down from the first he shot a sly smirk at the students. "Sort of like a prepubescent beard. It's just ain't worth keeping."

That elicited a few guffaws from the gathered crowd. Some of the students from the Temple dig could see what was happening and began to make their way over to the group around the horse.

"It does come in handy though when you put these collars on them." He picked up the third one, settling it in to place under the second collar and buckling it down.

"I take it, then, that the coat, with that refractive quality to the hair, helps keep the body cool in the heat?" McNeese asked, running a hand down the haunch of the horse. There was no way to describe such a shiny copper colouring.

"Got it in one, Doctor." Taige replied. "Reflecting the sunlight away from the body just helps keep the body temperature normal, also helps when they are tasked for a long-distance run."

Two students carrying the fourth and largest of the collars stepped forward.

"Not yet, the blanket goes on now," Taige said.

McNeese and three students, two on each side of the horse, gently draped the burgundy blanket over the horse's back under Taige's direction. The two loops lay just on either side of the horse's withers.

"Okay, now you two hold that centre disk in the middle of his chest, like so..." he said, indicating to them where to hold it. The coins glittered and tinkled at the handling of the large collar. As they held it in place, Taige reached over the horse's back and slid that end of the strap through the loop, then did the same with the one on his side before buckling the collar and settling it flat on the horse's neck.

Then they all stepped back and stared.

It was like an exotic apparition from another era literally had appeared in their midst.

The Istiqan was transformed into a regal creature worthy only for a member of royalty. He shifted slightly, causing the coins to jingle and sparkle. He held his head up, tall and proud. Taige, shook his head in wonder, reaching down and picking up the saddle which he then set in place on the horse's back.

"This is what the Istiqans in the royal household looked like." He said confidently. "There's a strap piece missing that attaches to that small square at the bottom of the disk. It threads between the front legs and attaches to the underbelly saddle strap."

"Magnificent!" McNeese breathed in awe, his eyes taking in the sight. Several of the students, and Alex Armstrong where madly sketching in their archaeological logs and sketch books.

"Magnificent doesn't even come close!" Alex rumbled reverently. "Superlatives fail me!"

"I think what you may have found here, Doctor, is one of the Royal tack rooms." Taige said.

"My thoughts exactly," McNeese concurred, smiling in delight.

"There's also enough gold on those collars to refinance Ishval." Taige said. "We might want to let the Khorovar and the Colonel know about this. Get it into some sort of protection against thieves. I'm betting too, that metallic quality in the stitching on the blanket is gold and silver. The silver's corroded though. Looks case-hardened for sure. That's gonna be a job getting the tarnish out." He looked at McNeese. "You've got strong boxes and locks out here for the more valuable finds, right?"

"Most certainly. We've been keeping any of the valuable finds under lock at key at the governor's office." McNeese mused. "Before transporting everything to Eastern University for further cleaning and cataloguing."

"Let me talk to Colonel Miles. A find like this..." Taige, shaking his head in wonder, reached out, reverently running his fingers along the strap of the main collar. "It should be under guard as well as locked down. My MP's can handle that, with the Colonel's permission that is."

"And being a mite easier to transport to the train station then from the centre of town." McNeese grinned. He drew in a deep breath, gazing at the horse a bit longer then sighed. "We'd better start getting this off of him."

Taige nodded, reaching up undo the uppermost collar. As he did, Veela stepped up beside him, lightly touching his arm. Taige leaned her way, and she began to speak to him softly in Ishvallan. He looked away a moment, handing the collar to a student and reached for the next buckle. Then he smiled, glancing at his daughter fondly and nodded.

McNeese seeing the interaction, raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Ishvala has funny timing when revealing a name sometimes." Taige commented.

"Oh?" McNeese asked. "Has he revealed a name for this young fella?" He asked unbuckling the main collar, letting it slide gently into the waiting hands of two students.

"May we inquire what that might be?" Alex asked.

"Qirali." Veela said, reaching up to stroke the horse's nose with a smile on her face.

Alex and McNeese both raised their eyebrows.

Taige chuckled, patting the horse's neck, fondly. "It's old Ishvallan. It means royalty."

McNeese smiled, also gazing at the horse. "Qirali. What a very fitting name indeed."


End file.
